Dangerous to Know

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Jack would never admit it, but I knew he dressed this way on purpose , and that he reveled in looking slightly rumpled. I had long ago discovered that comparisons to Sebastian infuriated him, and yet they were almost unavoidable. There was no question whose son he was, they looked so much alike.

  Glancing at me across the room, Jack started to give me details about the new wine, how it had been put down nine summers ago, and how it had turned out to be a jewel of a red, probably the best ever produced at the chateau.

  As I listened, I began to realize that Jack spoke more fluidly and in longer sentences as he discussed the wine and Olivier, and how the latter had created it.

  It struck me suddenly that this was because he was relaxed and talking about something that he genuinely cared about. Usually words came out of my brother’s mouth in short staccato bursts, an abrupt speech pattern that had developed when he was about eight or nine years old. In those days, he frequently stuttered, an affliction that had upset all of us, not only Jack. I think this was why he began to speak in those short bursts. To avoid stuttering. At least that was my theory.

  Carefully, Jack carried my glass of wine over to me, then went back to get his own. A split second later, standing in front of the fire, he raised his glass and said, “Here’s to that great man whose name is Luciana.”

  I stared at him, a brow lifting as I did.

  “That’s what Voltaire said to Catherine the Great. It’s a compliment.”

  “I realize that,” I said. “Thank you.” I then took a sip of wine, and nodded. -“It’s lovely, Jack, and not too heavy.

  Congratulations.”

  Beaming at me, Jack sat down on the sofa and asked, “What did you want to talk to me about, Luce?”

  I took a big swallow of wine and said, “Locke Industries.”

  “What about Locke?”

  “The running of the company specifically, Jack.”

  “Jonas is a great C.E.O. No problem there. Sebastian handpicked him.

  Jonas handpicked Peter Sampson. Our profits are high. We’ve never done better. What’s your problem?”

  “I don’t have a problem, I agree with you, I think they’re both terrific and Locke is in great shape. What I’m trying to say is that I’d like to be more involved in the running of it.”

  My brother stared at me. “Want to move, Luce?” Run the women’s divisions. In New York. Like Sebastian offered. Is that it?”

  “I might want to move to the New York headquarters, and take up the offer Sebastian made before he died, yes. But what I’m talking about right now is being involved at a higher level, a corporate level.”

  “Not following you, kid.” My brother eyed me.

  “I’d like to have a hand in the running of Locke Industries, not just the women’s divisions.”

  “That wouldn’t work! It wouldn’t sit well, Luce. Not with Jonas.

  Nor with Peter. Interference. That’s how they’d see it.

  Wouldn’t blame

  ‘em.” He shook his head vehemently. “No, no, it wouldn’t work.”

  “Because I’m a woman, is that it, Jack?” I asked quietly, staring him down.

  “You know better than that. For this reason: You need more experience .

  You’re not old enough to handle a company like ours. It’s too big.”

  “Oh come on, Jack, don’t say that. You know very well that Sebastian thought a lot about my ability, my practicality, and efficiency. He had great things planned for me at Locke.”

  “He did. That’s true. But you’re not experienced enough.

  Neither am I.

  Luce, I wouldn’t know where to begin. Nor would you. Down the road a bit maybe. Not now, honey.”

  I sighed. “I don’t want you to think I don’t have faith in Jonas, because that’s not so. I happen to believe he’s a genius and so does Gerald.”

  “He’s proved it to me. Look at the balance sheet,” Jack said in a voice that sounded tough.

  “Have you ever wanted to run Locke Industries, Jack?”

  He shook his head. “No. But you know that. I just told you how I felt. I wouldn’t know how. Not even Sebastian wanted to run it.

  Not full time. Not in the end. And he helped to make it what it is.

  Tough -job, Luce, real tough.” -“You don’t really like being chairman, do you?” I gave my brother a penetrating stare. “Isn’t it a bit of a bore having to go to New York every two months? Having to deal with Jonas on a daily basis?”

  “I don’t talk to him every day,” Jack cut in, frowning. “What’re you getting at?”

  “If you want to step down, I wouldn’t mind being chairman, Jack.

  Really I wouldn’t. You’ve never been interested in the company, you much prefer to be here running the vineyards.”

  He threw back his head and roared, his laughter echoing around the small room. “I always knew you were ambitious. But Jesus, Luce!

  Tying to take the chairmanship! From me. That beats everything.”

  “I’d only take it if you didn’t want it. Or share it with you, if you felt like doing that. You know, to ease your burdens.”

  My brother began to laugh again, shaking his head. “I gotta hand it to you, kid. You got chutzpah.”

  “I’m being realistic. I love the business. You don’t. I’d make a terrific chairman.”

  “Maybe. But it’s my duty. To be chairman. I was brought up to do the job. And I will. Remember Cyrus and Sebastian drilling it into me?

  Night and day. Duty. Duty. Duty. That’s all they talked about to me.

  Don’t let the family down. Run the business. Look after your sister.

  Be a dutiful son. Dutiful grandson. Dutiful their. Dutiful Locke.”

  186Baitam Taylor Bradford

  “Yes, I remember,” I murmured. “They gave you a hard time, Jack darling, I know that.”

  “So leave it alone. And don’t forget something. Sebastian laid it all out. In his will. In the division of shares.”

  “I know he did. Drop it, Jack. Forget I brought it up. But in case you ever do want to retire from the chairmanship, I’m ready to take over.”

  “You’d have to, Luce. That’s the way the will’s laid out. The way Sebastian wanted it. There’s no one else. But if you do want to go to New York to run the women’s divisions, then do it.”

  I nodded, and continued, “Jack, there’s something I want to say.

  Look I promised to talk to you on Madge’s behalf. She wants you to go out on a few field trips. To Africa, for the charities.”

  “No way! Absolutely not!” he exclaimed. “I’ve told Madge that.

  Several times. I’m giving away the same amount of money. As much as Sebastian did. I’m even willing to fund more charities. New ones she brought to me. But no traveling. Not for me. No trips to Zaire.

  Or Zambia. Or Somalia. Or Angola. Or Rwanda. Or India. Or Bosnia.

  Or any of the places Sebastian liked to wander around.

  Indifferent to disease, bombs, bullets. Indifferent to chaos, murder, revolution.

  Whatever. Absolutely no bloody way! I’irn not insane. He was.”

  “All right, all right, don’t get so excited. It was only a suggestion on Madge’s part, well, a request really. And I already told her that I was quite sure you wouldn’t do it.”

  “Damn right I won’t.”

  “Jack, did you tell Vivienne I was coming to stay with you?”

  “Yes. Why? Does it matter?”

  “No, of course not. I understand from Madge that she wants to .

  . .

  sort of interview me for the proffie she’s writing about Sebastian.”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “Then I’m going to phone her later and invite her over to the chateau .

  How about tonight? Does that suit you?”

  “Sure. Invite her to dinner. If you want.”

  “I will,” I said.

  My brother was amiable and affectionate with me for the
remainder of the day.

  After a pleasant lunch at the chateau we walked over to the winery, where we spent some time with Olivier Marchand, and then I was given a grand tour of the ancient cave by the two of them.

  From there Jack and I strolled across to the Home Farm and visited with Madame Clothilde, who insisted on serving us coffee and cake as we reminisced about the past.

  Later Jack took me through his vineyards, talking to me proudly about the wines he would make this year. We went down to the lake, had a long walk through the woods, and finally came back to the chateau.

  Here we had a cup of tea together in the small sitting room, a ritual started by Antoinette Delaney that had continued over the years.

  After this Jack went back to work for an hour or two, and I retreated to my room to rest for a while before getting ready for the evening.

  Earlier in the day I had spoken to Vivienne. She had agreed to drive over from Lourmarin to talk to me about the profile of my father she was writing. She had accepted Jack’s invitation to stay to dinner, had sounded so friendly, so cordial I made up my mind to be as pleasant as I could with her. Being mean to her, making snide remarks had be come habitual, and now I was determined to hold myself in check.

  Whenever I came to visit Jack at the chateau he gave me the room that had been mine as a child. It was large, filled with light from the many windows and I loved the view of the meadows and the Home Farm.

  Now I walked over to one of the windows and stood looking out at this view, which was so familiar to me and had been ever since I was little girl.

  Together Jack and I had run in those fields filled with wildflowers, climbed the great trees in the woods, swum in the lake, picked fruit in the orchard, and had picnics under the vine-covered loggia at the Home Farm. In those carefree days of our childhood it had been Clothilde’s mother Madame Paulette who had ruled the roost.

  She had fed us delicious food, bustled about, chastised us if we were naughty and generally fussed over us like a mother hen. Jack and I genuinely grieved for her when she died. She had been like a favorite cuddly aunt.

  When we were little Jack had always been in charge of me, and I had tagged along no matter what he was doing. Fortunately, he had never seemed to mind this, had always been the protective older brother looking out for my welfare, always kind and good-natured with me even when I was up to mischief.

  I thought of the discussion I’d had with him about Locke Industries before lunch. Jack had not erupted angrily, as Gerald had predicted he would before I left London this morning. However, my husband had been right about one thing: Jack had no intention of giving up what was his birthright.

  It was not often my judgment was flawed when it came either to business or my brother, but in this instance it had been. However, Jack had taken it well, and no harm had been done to our relationship.

  He knew I liked to take control, be in charge. Also, he no longer over reacted now that he’d stopped his heavy drinking.

  After taking off my suit and putting on a dressing gown, I carried my laptop to the bed and spent the next hour working.

  Vivienne arrived punctually a couple of minutes before six, and Florian led her into the small sitting room where I was waiting.

  There had always been a certain amount of animosity between us and since neither of us was a hypocrite we made no pretense of great friendship by hugging and kissing. Instead we greeted each other rather formally and shook hands.

  I sat down in my usual chair near the fire.

  Vivienne took the one opposite, and said, “You look very well Luciana.”

  “Thank you, so do you,” I replied, trying to be nice.

  Then taking control of the situation in my usual way, I got straight to the point before she had a chance to say anything. “How can I help you?

  What do you want to know about Sebastian that you don’t al ready know?”

  She looked uncertain for a moment, then cleared her throat and said, “I was hoping you could tell me what he was like the last year of his life.

  You saw him more than Jack and I, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. He was in London around this time last year. Early April, actually, and I spent a few days with him at the office. He came back in May. It was a weekend and he drove down to Kent on the Sunday, to have lunch with us at Goldenbrooke. He was very much himself on those two visits, by that I mean low-key, slightly remote, even a bit melancholy. Still, that was par for the course, right? He was a moody man, Vivienne, as you well know. Certainly we witnessed his mood swings and temperament when we were growing up.”

  “He could be morose,” Vivienne concurred. “Often on the edge. He seemed to be carrying the burdens of the world on his shoulders.” She gave me a hard stare, asked, “Did he tell you if he had any special plans? For the future?”

  I shook my head. “No, he didn’t.”

  “Can I come in?” Jack asked from the doorway. “Or am I interrupting?”

  Vivienne exclaimed, “Hello, Jack. And no you’re not interrupting.

  Come and join us.”

  Jack strolled in, gave her a peck on the cheek, then went and opened the bottle of Veuve Cliquot that stood in a silver bucket on the con sole.

  “How about a glass of bubbly, you two? Or would you prefer something else?”

  “Champagne’s fine,” I said.

  “Thanks, Jack, I’ll also have a glass.” Vivienne turned back to me and went on, “So Sebastian was being Sebastian right to the end?”

  “You’re not going to dwell on his suicide in the profile, are you Vivienne?” I demanded, my voice suddenly turning sharp.

  “I’m devoting exactly one line to it, that’s all, Luciana. I am only interested in writing a profile of him as he was. So there were no new ventures on the horiii:on? Either at Locke Industries or the Locke Foundation?”

  “Not that I know of,” I responded and glanced at my brother. “Did Sebastian tell you anything about his future?”

  “Nope. It was business as usual with him. And there was nothing different on his agenda. I’ve already told Viv that.”

  Looking across at her, I said swiftly, “Just before Jack came in, I was about to mention that Sebastian was in good spirits when Jack and I were staying with him last October. This stuck in my mind, because I hadn’t seen him happy very often in my life.”

  “I noticed that too,” Vivienne murmured quietly.

  “I didn’t witness this happiness,” Jack muttered as he brought us our

  flutes of champagne. “If you two agree he was, who am I to argne9

  There must be something to it.”

  We all said cheers and raised our glasses.

  I said, “There’s more to this than just the profile, isn’t there?

  You could easily write it without talking to either of us or anyone else.

  Vivienne sat back, crossed her legs, and nodded. “Certainly. But I told you, I want to get an all-around picture of him. Sebastian as seen through many eyes.”

  “Vivienne, I’m not stupid. Madge told me about the so-called girl friend. But you’re wasting your time because I know nothing ah out her.

  No one does. You’re the only one he confided in.”

  front of the fireplace, sipping his drink. t

  “If she exists,” Jack murmured as he came to join us. He hovered “Oh she exists all right.” Vivienne sounded so confident, I stared at her swiftly.

  Jack murmured, “Maybe you’re right, Viv. But you’ll never track her down. How can you? You don’t have a name.”

  “Oh but I do have a name. Actually I just found it. I know who she is, Jack. I hope to interview her within the next couple of weeks, and perhaps she might be able to shed some light on Sebastian’s suicide.”

  “What do you mean by that exactly?” I asked.

  “She might have a clue why he did it,” Vivienne answered.

  “Oh for God’s sake! Forget all that nonsense, Viv!” Jack exclaimed.

  “I want to
know who the hell she is. And how you managed to find her.

  Jesus! Talk about a needle in a haystack!”

  “Let me first tell you how I found her,” Vivienne said. “This past weekend I was going through an old appointment book, checking a date for Kit Tremain, when the diary fell open to a day last July.

  Monday, July the eleventh, 1994. I’d made a notation that I’d spoken to Sebastian that morning. He’d called me from Paris. As I stared at the page I started to remember our conversation. He’d told me he was staying at the Plaza-Athene, that he was in Paris to attend a s’s more to this than just the profile, isn’t there? You could easily write it without talking to either of us or anyone else.

  Vivienne sat back, crossed her legs, and nodded. “Certainly. But I told you, I want to get an all-around picture of him. Sebastian as seen through many eyes.”

  “Vivienne, I’m not stupid. Madge told me about the so-called girl friend. But you’re wasting your time because I know nothing ah out her.

  No one does. You’re the only one he confided in.”

  front of the fireplace, sipping his drink. t

  “If she exists,” Jack murmured as he came to join us. He hovered “Oh she exists all right.” Vivienne sounded so confident, I stared at her swiftly.

  Jack murmured, “Maybe you’re right, Viv. But you’ll never track her down. How can you? You don’t have a name.”

  “Oh but I do have a name. Actually I just found it. I know who she is, Jack. I hope to interview her within the next couple of weeks, and perhaps she might be able to shed some light on Sebastian’s suicide.”

  “What do you mean by that exactly?” I asked.

  “She might have a clue why he did it,” Vivienne answered.

  “Oh for God’s sake! Forget all that nonsense, Viv!” Jack exclaimed.

  “I want to know who the hell she is. And how you managed to find her.

  Jesus! Talk about a needle in a haystack!”

  “Let me first tell you how I found her,” Vivienne said. “This past weekend I was going through an old appointment book, checking a date for Kit Tremain, when the diary fell open to a day last July.