Scorpio Series Boxed Set

by Monique Domovitch

  Alex picked up the telephone. “Would you mind placing a call for me?” he asked pleasantly. He gave the overseas number and waited until a foreign voice answered on the speaker phone.

  “This is Alex Ivanov. May I speak to Sheik Omar El Kayem please?” As he spoke, Alex noticed the sudden relief on Elmsby’s face as he recognized Sheik El Kayem’s name. Just a few weeks ago, the New York Times had published an extensive article about the sheik. In it he was described as the Arab-world’s richest man. The article had gone on to describe his many toys, the most expensive private yacht ever built, a multimillion dollar helicopter, palaces all over Europe, and the sheik’s own pride and joy, the most extensive private collection of grand masters in the world.

  Minutes later, Sheik El Kayem was on the line. “Alex! How are you my friend? So do we have a deal?’

  “Omar,” Alex said agreeably into the receiver. “I’ve been thinking about your offer, and it sounds interesting. I just wanted to clarify one detail before I take it to my board of directors. The amount you quoted for the Royal Victoria, was that in Swiss Francs or in American dollars?”

  “Very nice try, my friend,” came the amused reply. “That was one-billion American dollars and not one penny more.”

  “Thanks, Omar. I’ll have an answer for you in a few days.”

  After the call was ended, the president nodded, reassured. “You must understand,” he said, apologetically. “So many companies are having difficulties. One can never be too careful.”

  “I understand,” said Alex agreeably as he stood to leave.

  Later that afternoon, Alex went back to his office and placed a call to Saudi Arabia. “Omar, you’ll be getting the three paintings tomorrow.”

  “I am very grateful my friend. It is always good to do business with you. I’ve had my heart set on those paintings for a long time. The money will be wired to your account as soon as I verify their authenticity. If you ever need my help again, I will be happy to cooperate.”

  The next day, Alex went for his weekly visit to the clinic. At the entrance, the doctor rushed to greet him. “I have wonderful news,” he exclaimed. “Brigitte has asked to see you.”

  Alex hurried to Brigitte’s room. At the door, he suddenly hesitated. What if she looked at him with that blank stare again? What if she didn’t recognize him? Sucking in a deep breath, he opened the door, and walked in.

  Brigitte sat by the window. She turned, looked at him, and smiled. It was the most beautiful sight Alex had ever seen. “Hi,” he said. His hands were trembling.

  “How are you, Alex?”

  Alex stumbled to the chair, kneeled, and put his arms around her. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice close to breaking.

  “Did you?”

  There was so much he wanted to say. “Brigitte, I’m so sorry about David. It was my fault. I thought…”

  Brigitte closed her eyes, but not quickly enough to hide the flash of pain. “It was an accident. Nobody’s fault. Just a terrible accident.”

  Relief flooded over him and he was filled with overwhelming joy. Everything would be all right. “God, I love you!” he said, and was amazed at how profoundly he meant it. They sat and talked for a time. Before long, though, the doctor came in and said, “Brigitte needs her rest. I’m sorry.”

  As Alex was about to leave, Brigitte put a restraining hand on his arm. “I-I want you to do me a favor,” she said.

  “Anything.”

  “Could you ask Natalia to come and see me?” she asked. “I would appreciate it.”

  “I’ll call her right away, sweetheart.”

  The next day, Natalia arrived at the clinic. For months she had been filled with guilt. If only she had not told Brigitte about Alex’s infidelities, maybe she would not have had such a severe reaction to her son’s death. As it was, Brigitte had been dealt two severe emotional blows in a very short time. Since then, Natalia had often wanted to visit Brigitte, but had dreaded her friend’s reaction. At the door to Brigitte’s room she gathered her courage and walked in.

  “How are you, darling?” she asked, rushing over to embrace her dear friend.

  “Natalia, I’m so glad you came,” responded Brigitte quietly. There was no anger in her voice, no sign of distress or sorrow. If Brigitte held any grudge toward Natalia, there was no sign of it.

  “Of course. I came as soon as Alex told me,” said Natalia, relieved. “I wanted to come much sooner but I…” She gestured vaguely. “…wasn’t sure you would want to see me.” She sat in the armchair and held onto Brigitte’s hands as she spoke. “Gerald sends his best.”

  “That’s nice of him.” Brigitte hesitated. “I want to ask you a favor.”

  Natalia nodded and her triple chins wobbled. “Anything, Brigitte. You have my word.”

  Brigitte struggled to speak for a moment and her eyes filled with tears. “Did you ever tell Alex about what you told me?”

  For a moment, Natalia almost lost her composure, but she quickly regained it. She shook her head. “No.”

  “I want you to promise me you never will. As far as I am concerned, Alex is my husband and he has never even looked at another woman. Do you promise?”

  Natalia was at a loss. That was not what she had expected. “Yes, of course. Anything you say.”

  “Thanks, Natalia. I’m very tired now. If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to sleep. Don’t worry, I’m all right.”

  As Natalia left, she couldn’t help but think that Brigitte did not sound fine at all.

  * * *

  A few days later, Doctor Lemieux gave Alex the good news. “I think Brigitte is nearly ready to go home. You’ll be able to bring her home for Christmas.”

  Alex took the news ecstatically and rushed home to prepare for his wife’s impending arrival. Alex walked through the rooms, trying to think of ways to make the house more beautiful for the upcoming holidays and his wife’s homecoming. Everywhere he looked were reminders of David. Memories, some happy, some sad, filled his mind.

  This is where David used to paint, he thought as he stood in the solarium. He walked into the library and looked at David’s painting of the sunset. He really did have talent, he thought. And he was so proud of this painting.

  Upstairs in his bedroom, David’s clothes still hung in the closets. His favorite books were neatly lined in the shelves across from his bed, and the oils he had painted years ago decorated the walls. It’s as though he is still here.

  Alex walked dejectedly through the rest of the house. Everywhere he looked, something reminded him of David. If it’s this painful for me to be reminded of him, it will be torture for Brigitte.

  At that moment, Alex knew exactly what he should do. “Réjeanne!” he called. A moment later the old woman appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. “I want you to get rid of all of David’s things.”

  Réjeanne’s mouth dropped open. “B-but,” she stuttered.

  “No buts about it. Just do it. Brigitte will be back in a few weeks and I don’t want her to be reminded of David everywhere she looks.”

  * * *

  One month later, Brigitte was discharged from the clinic. Doctor Lemieux walked her to the car, giving her last minute advice. “I have to go back to France, but I want you to continue seeing the therapist twice a week. Here is his name and telephone number. And don’t forget to take your medication.”

  “I won’t,” she replied. She felt like a schoolgirl at graduation: happy, sad, and frightened.

  Alex helped her into the limousine and then climbed in the other side. “Driver, take us home,” he said as he laid his hand over hers.

  An hour later, the car pulled into the long circular drive. The chauffeur stepped out and opened the door for Brigitte. With the snow on the ground and the Christmas decorations, the house looked like a magical holiday scene.

  How can it be Christmas without David? thought Brigitte sadly.

  Alex opened the massive front door and escorted her inside. “Would you like something
to eat?” he asked as he put her suitcases down in the foyer. “Or would you rather go straight to our bedroom and rest?”

  “I think I’d like to be alone,” she answered hesitantly. “You go. I’ll just wander around by myself.”

  “Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

  “Alex, I want to be alone.” Her tone was firm.

  “If you’re sure, I’ll be upstairs in our bedroom,” he said. “If you need anything…”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted.

  Alex kissed her lightly on the cheek and left her.

  Brigitte wasn’t sure what she had expected, but whatever it was, this was not it.

  I know David is gone, she thought, still unable to even think the word ‘dead.’ But where are all his things?

  With growing trepidation, Brigitte walked through the rooms. Everything was slightly different. There were new pictures on the grand piano in the living room. In the library, she stopped, too shocked to speak or move. David’s painting of the sunset was gone. In its place was a new Matisse.

  No, it can’t be. She turned and ran. At the door to David’s bedroom, she hesitated. I’ll open the door and he’ll be there. She closed her eyes and walked in.

  For a moment, she thought she had made a mistake.

  This isn’t David’s room.

  All of the furniture had been changed. She rushed to the closets. His clothes are gone. In the bathroom she stared at the empty counters. All his colognes, gone.

  She would have given anything for just the familiar smell of his aftershave. She opened the cabinet. Nothing. Every last trace of David was gone, vanished! It was as though his very memory had been obliterated.

  He’s gone, she thought. All hope of the past months having been a nightmare crumpled. My son is gone, and he’s never coming back. At last the tears came, hot and salty and bitter. David! she cried silently. Oh, God, David, where are you?

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  The newspaper had yellowed in the months since it had been published. Anne Turner pulled it out gingerly from the box where she had stored it and spread it on the table.

  TRAGEDY STRIKES IVANOV FAMILY

  Anne Turner smiled as she remembered the day she had first read the article.

  In her excitement, she had almost stumbled on her way to the telephone. She had dialed quickly and willed her son to be there.

  “Come on, dammit. Pick up the telephone.” She heard the voice at the other end, sleepy and confused. “It’s me. Did you read this morning’s paper?”

  “What time is it?” he had asked, still groggy.

  “What the hell were you doing last night? I sold the house and all of my jewelry to send you to Harvard, and you go out and party all night.”

  “I was not out. I was studying. My board exams are in just a few months and I have dozens of books to memorize. I’m tired.”

  “Well, this will cheer you up.” She read the article out loud, putting emphasis on a few important words. “‘The adopted son of Alex Ivanov, who, many believed, was being groomed to take over his father’s company, has died.’ Did you get that?”

  “Yes, yes I got it.” His voice suddenly sounded wide awake.

  “And get this. ‘Apart from Ivanov’s wife, there is no other living relative.’”

  Anne Turner remembered her son’s shock after she finished reading him the article, and smiled. She folded up the old newspaper. You are in for a big surprise, Alex Ivanov.

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  Over dinner a few days later, Alex told Brigitte of his intentions. “From now on, I’m going to spend more time with you and less at the office. I missed you while you were away, sweetheart.”

  Brigitte looked at him blandly. “Why would you do that? You love working.”

  “But you’ve always wanted me to spend more time…”

  Brigitte laughed weakly. “Mon chéri, I wouldn’t know what to do with you if you suddenly had time for me. Maybe our marriage has been successful all these years because of our busy lives.”

  “Are you sure? I thought…”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I don’t want anything to change from the way things were.”

  Alex was puzzled. In the past, Brigitte had used every opportunity to pressure him into spending more time with him. “If you’re absolutely sure,” he said.

  “I am,” she answered.

  Alex nodded and smiled. “I bet you can’t wait to get in contact with all your friends. By the way, Gerald sends his regards.” He kept up a happy chatter, carefully covering the way he truly felt. His heart sank and despair filled him. She’s changed.

  * * *

  As Brigitte re-entered her life after her release from the clinic, Alex was not the only one to notice the change in her. Whereas in the past she had always been warm and approachable, Brigitte now seemed distant and aloof. When her friends, even Natalia, tried to draw her into conversations, more often than not, Brigitte seemed disinterested.

  “Alex, I’m very worried about her,” Natalia told him one day after Brigitte had refused still another invitation to join her for lunch.

  “She still hasn’t recovered from David’s death,” he answered.

  It’s more than that, thought Natalia sadly.

  * * *

  Every day, Brigitte went through the motions of living. She got up in the morning and dressed with the same care and attention she had always taken. overflowed her days with activities. She shopped, worked out at the gym, and oversaw the decorating of the many Power Properties projects; she continued caring for the house and for Alex; but she no longer seemed to have any interest in spending time with anyone. There was only emptiness inside, and she desperately tried to fill it by rushing about in a constant whirlwind of activities.

  After numerous attempts to draw her out, Natalia decided it was time to be more forceful. After work one day, she drove over to the Ivanov house unannounced.

  “How is she?” she asked Réjeanne as soon as the old woman opened the door.

  Réjeanne looked worried. “I don’t know. She hardly talks to me anymore. She’s always telling me she’s too busy. She rushes around all the time, and if she’s home, she just sits, staring off into space.”

  Natalia slipped out of her sable coat and handed it to Réjeanne. “Where is she?”

  “In the library,” she replied. “Should I tell her you’re here?”

  “No, it’s all right. I’ll tell her myself,” and Natalia strode determinedly across the foyer.

  Brigitte was sitting quietly, staring absently at the fire in the chimney. She looked up. “Natalia, what a surprise.” She seemed confused. “I’m sorry. Did I forget you were coming?”

  “Darling, I’m worried about you.” Natalia walked over, kissed her on each cheek, and settled her weight into one of the armchairs. “Every time I want to see you, you put me off. Gerald tells me he has also left you countless messages and you never returned his calls. Are you all right?”

  Brigitte stood up wearily. “I’m fine. I’m just so busy lately. You should have told me you were coming over. I would have asked Jerome to prepare dinner.”

  Natalia shook a cigarette out of her platinum case and lit it. Slowly, she took a deep drag and exhaled, looking at Brigitte directly in the eyes. “You would have done no such thing. You would have come up with some excuse to put me off again.”

  Brigitte seemed to deflate. “I-I’m sorry, Natalia.”

  “I think I understand how you feel, Brigitte, but it’s time you came back to the living. A group of us are having lunch tomorrow at Lutèce and you are joining us.” She saw Brigitte begin to shake her head and quickly continued, insisting, “And I am not taking no for an answer.”

  * * *

  The next day, Brigitte stepped out of her limousine in front of the restaurant and a group of reporters assailed her. “Why did you disappear for so long?” they wanted to know.

  “Is it true that you’ve had
a nervous breakdown?”

  “How are you feeling now?”

  Struggling to remain calm while avoiding the barrage of questions, Brigitte escaped into the restaurant and was quickly escorted to the long table where most of her friends were already seated.

  Natalia rose to greet her. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. Someone must have tipped them off that you would be here.”

  Brigitte shook her head. “I should have expected it. You can’t imagine how they’ve been hounding me since I’ve come home.”

  “I can imagine,” replied Christina Albertini, the recently divorced socialite. “When George and I separated, the reporters were practically camped on my doorstep for weeks.”

  “And look at the way they turned the Bradley divorce into a circus,” commented Gloria Steinberg. “That went on for over a year. It was an absolute disgrace.”

  The group ordered lunch and the conversation turned to the latest fashion trends. From across the table, Natalia watched with relief as Brigitte joined in the chatter. This is exactly what Brigitte needed. It can only do her good to be out with friends again.

  “Are you going to Paris for the collections?”

  “Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” replied Christina to Gloria.

  “Hemlines are going up again.”

  “Can you believe Chistian Lacroix’s last collection?” chirped another of the ladies.

  “I just loved the last Dior showing.”

  One young woman, a tall angular blonde with large feline eyes, who had lately graced the covers of Vogue and Bazaar leaned toward Brigitte and whispered discreetly, “That’s a beautiful pendant you’re wearing.”