“Wow. That’s—that’s outstanding, Brad,” she said softly. “And extremely flattering, by the way. Thank you.”
She made sure to add the last. He was a brilliant artist, but never really convinced of his talent. A capable man, but often very shy.
His flush deepened.
“Well, of course, it is idealized—” Eileen began.
“Jillian glows,” Daniel said.
“Just like Rudolph’s nose,” Griff said cheerfully.
The others stared at him.
“Show the next sketch, Brad,” Douglas advised, breaking the silence.
Brad flipped the page. This time, it was a beach setting. She stood by a palm tree. Branches and fronds dipped over her head; the ocean rolled ahead of her. It was dusk, hues of incredible beauty captured on the page. One hand was on the tree, the other reaching for the man coming toward her.
She almost choked.
It was Robert Marston.
She couldn’t look at him. She felt deeply humiliated, as if he had been paid to come here—for her.
“Grandfather, did you—”
“No. Brad admits to using you as his model, but he didn’t know Robert, so that likeness is purely coincidental,” Douglas informed her.
Marston was studying Brad with his fathomless dark eyes. “Quite a coincidence,” he commented.
“Yes, sir,” Brad said. His eyes touched Jillian’s. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. We usually hire models, though we’ve been doing more and more on computer lately, but when I heard what type of feeling they wanted…really, it was me. Just me. And I’m truly sorry.”
It was an incredible speech for Brad Casey, who looked even more desperately miserable than she felt.
“No, no, Brad, what you did is…incredibly flattering, as I said. I’m certainly not angry with you.”
Douglas leaned forward, hands folded on the meeting table, powder-blue eyes steady on hers. “We think it’s incredible. An accidental piece of genius. What better way to promote Llewellyn Enterprises than with a real Llewellyn? We want to make this the centerpiece of a major campaign. Naturally, though, it has to be all right with you. And Robert.”
“They’re wonderful sketches. And if you think that they’ll increase sales, by all means, use them,” she said, though she still felt shaken by the power of the art.
“It’s more than that, Jillian,” Eileen said, sitting forward. “You’d have to be really out there.”
“Really out there…how?” she enquired.
“A campaign, Jill. We want to do a campaign. We want to do some stills, maybe some TV ads. Theo was the first to see it. The sketches are just the beginning.”
Jillian must have been looking at Theo blankly, because he added, “We’re hoping to get you on some of the talk shows.”
“What do I have to talk about?” she asked.
“The company. We can increase our Christmas sales, and by doing so, we’ll be able to increase our charitable donations. We’ll even do a special campaign, something for the children’s hospital you support.”
Theo, she thought, was really trying to talk her into it. She wasn’t sure she shared his enthusiasm, though. She wasn’t convinced that her image would sell more jewelry or improve sales at all.
“We can focus on your piece this year. We haven’t worked it all out yet,” Douglas said. “But the campaign will have something to do with the timelessness of beauty, relationships, the human need for love and permanence. And a full ten percent of each sale will go to charity.”
Marston leaned forward before she could speak. “Don’t you think we might be putting Jillian in danger by making her so well known?” he enquired, not quite sure why the fear loomed so large in his mind.
“Danger?” Eileen exclaimed.
“All our images have already been out there,” Daniel said. “For Douglas’s last birthday, family shots ran in a number of national publications.”
“And the press was all over Jillian last year when Mi—” Eileen began, then broke off.
“When Milo died,” Griff ended quietly.
“There was a tremendous amount of press then. Especially in the city. You must remember,” Theo told him.
“Anyone with money and influence stands in danger,” Douglas said, breaking in at last. “I see your point, Robert. But I also believe that what the others are saying is true—we’ve all been out there many times. Our faces are certainly recognizable. I’ve always had the best and most up-to-date security on the house, and the company that handles this building is top-rated. From the richest man to the poorest, no one is safe from random acts of violence. We need to be smart. But I have always refused to live like an ostrich. I came from nothing, and I was blessed to create this empire—a small empire, but an empire all the same. I like this campaign. It gives back, and it shares the spirit of the season.”
“That’s another point. Most Christmas ads are already ready to run, and ours are no exception. Marketing strategies have been carefully put into place—”
“Yes, but we all know ads can be pulled, changed. And TV time is always available. We’ve got power, and they get cancellations.” Douglas turned to Jillian once again. “Jillian, the decision is yours. Though, I would like us all to be in accord.” He looked at Marston as he spoke.
Marston shrugged, deep blue eyes on Douglas, his jaw set. “Just for the record, I still think it’s dangerous.” He turned to Jillian, his gaze suddenly hard. “It’s you. You should object.”
She couldn’t bring herself to agree with him, though she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t that he had done anything to her, or been rude to her in any way.
On top of that, she wasn’t fond of the idea herself. In truth, for some reason, it made her nervous.
But she wasn’t about to agree with him.
“If you all think it’s good, then we’ll go with it,” she said.
She didn’t realize that they had all been leaning forward, looking at her, until they all leaned back, relaxing.
“I told you that she was Miss Llewellyn Enterprises,” Eileen said. She was smiling as she said it. No sting intended.
“We’ll take a vote,” Douglas said.
All hands went up. Except Marston’s.
“We were hoping you’d agree to do the campaign, too,” Daniel told him. He pointed at the second sketch. “That is you to a tee. And the man in the first one could be you, as well.”
“You would be perfect,” Eileen said with a sigh. “I’m so sorry you don’t feel the same.”
“Oh, I’ll do it,” Marston said, leaning back with a shrug. “I disagree with the entire thing, but I’ve been outvoted. So I’m your man.”
“I’ll call for coffee, and we’ll bring in the staff,” Douglas said. “Let’s get started now.”
His longtime assistant, Amelia Yancy—silver haired, sharp-tongued and nearly as old as he was—was the first to arrive. Coffee and pastries were arranged, the room filled, and the planning began.
And through the entire meeting, Jillian felt Marston at her side.
It wasn’t an easy feeling.
* * *
Robert Marston gave his last instructions to the young temp who was doing his clerical work until he had the time to find a permanent assistant, then sat at his handsome desk in his handsome office. He looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an excellent view of the Manhattan skyline and idly tapped his pencil on the desk. Why the hell had Douglas Llewellyn brought him into the company? He had no lack of confidence; he’d worked his butt off through school and done very well at Hydro-Tech, his previous employer, but the point was, Llewellyn Enterprises wasn’t lacking for leaders. Why had old Douglas been after fresh blood?
The campaign they had decided on was good. Excellent even. But he still didn’t agree with it. Douglas was going to parade his granddaughter in front of the public for the benefit of the company, whether it would be personally beneficial to her or not. That didn’t alter the fact
that the campaign was good, ingenious, and it would also benefit charity. It was important to Douglas to give back to the country that had truly been the land of opportunity for him. Robert had learned that Douglas never walked by a bum in the street, he always gave a down-and-outer at least a buck. He had caught Robert studying him once when they were walking along Fifth Avenue, and he had shrugged and said, “You know the old saying, ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’”
Robert had felt a little jaded. His own parents had brought him up with a sense of responsibility for his fellow man, but he donated checks to known institutions and he used them as tax deductions.
After that walk with Douglas, he’d found himself handing out cash. New York gave a man plenty of opportunity. Just the other day, he’d given money to a woman down in the Village, who then had leapt up and kissed him. He’d thought she was about sixty. At closer glance, she was about thirty. “I really do have a little kid to feed, mister,” she had told him. He’d believed her, then given her another twenty.
So had he come here just because he admired Douglas Llewellyn? Or because Llewellyn had intrigued him with his offer—and his strange honesty at the end of their final interview? Granted, the salary and shares had been hard to refuse. But the job he’d left had been darn good, too. And despite having a vote on the board here, he was still an outsider. There were few other businesses like Llewellyn Enterprises, so big—and still family owned and operated. There had been a few insinuations, of course….
And more than insinuations. There had been that last interview before he’d accepted the position.
“I worry. I worry sometimes because we are all family,” Douglas had told him. He had shaken his head. “Family. In all the world, there’s nothing so important. I’ve felt that way all my life. I sometimes feel even now as if we’re still in the last century, and I’m just a dreamer sitting on a stone wall in Dublin, swearing I’ll change the world. Family is everything, but you know, back there, back in the old country, I saw a father tar and feather his own daughter, and a mother turn from her own son. Over religion, politics…money. That’s what it boils down to, eh, money. Family can be damn scary, son. I fear…”
“You fear…what?”
“Ambition. You’ve got to have it. But too much of it…”
“Douglas, there are all kinds of rumors that you want to bring in fresh blood to mingle with your own.”
Douglas let out a wheezy laugh. “I’m an Irishman, boy, not a matchmaking old woman.” He’d laughed again, but then he’d grown serious. “You were with the special services in the navy.” It was a statement; not a question. Douglas Llewellyn had read Robert’s dossier a dozen times over, he was certain.
“Yes,” he responded, anyway.
“You saw some action.”
“A little. Middle East.”
“Well, it’s good to have a smart man on board—and a wary man. One who can watch out for himself—and others.”
Robert had leaned back, grinning. “Okay, Douglas. I get it. I’m a crack businessman—but I’m really here because you think I have the skills to investigate what goes on at your office, as well.”
“You’re here because you’re a crack businessman—it doesn’t hurt that you can protect yourself—and others.”
“Which others?”
“My granddaughter.”
“You have two granddaughters, sir.”
“Jillian.”
“Why Jillian?”
The old man was quiet for a minute.
“Because I had a dream,” he finally said.
“A dream…?”
“Do you want the job? You’ll instantly become a rich man.”
“I’m not doing badly on my own.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Why me?”
Again, Douglas hesitated. Then he told him, “You were in the dream.”
“But if you think that your granddaughter is in real danger…”
“That’s just it. I don’t. There’s nothing. Nothing concrete. Nothing I can see, just something strange and hazy…an old man’s dotterings, perhaps.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“I’m aware of that. Are you going to take the job?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
Strange. But stranger things had happened in life, he was certain. He was being offered a king’s ransom—because of a dream.
And then, of course, the first time he’d actually met Jillian Llewellyn up close, she’d screamed as if he were a psycho killer or a six-foot tarantula, then passed out cold. Great protector he was.
Well, he was here. Though the place seemed to move as smoothly on its own as a Swiss clock. Still…
Would he always be outvoted? Always be an outsider? He wasn’t a fool. He had heard all the rumors, and though rumors didn’t mean squat, it was true that he hadn’t been called in just on account of his business acumen. He was there to watch out. For Jillian.
And he’d tried today. He sure as hell had.
The old man hadn’t given him a bit of help. But then, Douglas didn’t think the danger to Jillian would come from the outside. He was afraid of his own flesh and blood.
Robert suddenly stood and walked down the hall to Daniel’s office. Daniel’s secretary, Gracie—Whippet Girl, as he silently termed her—started to rise, but he waved her down. “Don’t worry. I’ll be just a minute.”
He tapped on Daniel’s door and entered. Daniel had risen and was closing his desktop drawer. “Hey, Robert. I was just heading out. Want to stop somewhere for a drink? Since we missed last night?”
“I did show up,” Robert told him, thinking of their missed appointment at Hennessey’s. He wondered what Daniel had planned to talk to him about.
Daniel’s eyes were dark and grave. “I heard. My cousin passed out, so I was told. You gave her a ride home.”
“They told you at the bar?”
“Yeah.”
“I came back.”
“Sorry, I’d left.”
“I see…”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You didn’t put the tarot card reader up to giving me a hard time, did you?”
He’d been certain of it. But now, the way that Daniel looked at him, he wasn’t sure at all.
“I didn’t talk to the tarot card reader. I don’t believe in any of that nonsense. Why? You mean, you went to the woman for a reading? You, of all people.”
“Not exactly. But she knew a lot about me.”
“Practical jokes. More Griff’s line of work. Talk to him. I did hear what happened, and before I left, I gave old Henry a call to make sure Jillian was all right. He said she seemed to be fine. Joe Murphy told me this morning that you’d taken her home. I should have hung around a while longer last night. I’m sorry. Anyway, I’d meant to tell you about this ad campaign then, so you wouldn’t be taken by surprise.”
“Hey, it’s a good campaign.”
“But you don’t like it.”
He shrugged. “It still sounds dangerous to me.”
Daniel watched him for a moment. “Jillian isn’t a potato-head, Robert. She’s strong, smart and resilient.”
“I’m sure she is.”
“There’s a ‘but’ in there.”
“She’s rich. And beautiful.”
“And that makes her…?” Daniel asked carefully.
“A target,” Robert said. “Want to get that drink?”
They started out. Gracie—old Whippet Girl—came nervously up to Daniel as they were leaving. “I was getting ready to lock up, but I haven’t seen that cat all day. I always make sure he’s out of your office, Daniel.”
“The cat was Griff’s idea and he’s Griff’s responsibility,” Daniel said, impatient. “Just leave my door open.”
“But I haven’t seen him all day,” Gracie protested. “I set tuna out for him at lunch—”
“Gracie. He’s a cat. Don’t worry. Go on home. Leave the office door open.”
&n
bsp; “All right,” Gracie said with a sigh. “All right, sir.”
They left the building. “Anywhere special you want to go?” Daniel asked.
Robert hesitated a minute. “Yeah. It’s entirely out of the way, though.”
“Shoot.”
“Hennessey’s. I want to go back to Hennessey’s.”
* * *
At five, Jillian went around to Connie’s office, a cubicle outside her own. “Connie, I was about to leave, but I just realized, I haven’t seen Jeeves all day.”
Connie looked up, startled. “Jeeves?”
“Jeeves, Connie. The cat.”
“Oh,” Connie said vaguely. “Jeeves.”
Her friend was acting very peculiarly. “Connie, have you seen him?”
Connie hesitated, then shook her head vehemently. “Uh…not lately.”
“I guess I’ll look around for him.”
Easier said than done. The corporate offices were large, taking up the entire floor. She slipped in and out of meeting rooms and those offices that were open, to no avail. Most of the time people worked late, well past five, but today, it seemed, everyone had left early. She found Gracie still outside Daniel’s office, preparing her last batch of letters for the mail room.
“Hey, Gracie. I’m looking for Jeeves. Have you seen him?”
“No, Miss Llewellyn, I haven’t. But I’ve been concerned, as well. I opened a can of tuna for him at lunch, then called and called, but he didn’t show up.”
“Strange,” Jillian said.
“Daniel—Mr. Llewellyn—didn’t seem concerned. He told me that he’s a cat and he’ll show up.”
“Well, I suppose that’s true.”
“I’m still worried.”
“I’ll try Griff’s office. You go on home, Gracie. Don’t worry.”
Griff had already gone. And his office was locked. She frowned. “Well, I hope you’re in there, Jeeves, or we’ll have little kitty presents all over the place tomorrow.”
A Season of Miracles Page 7