by Gun Brooke
“Here we go.” Paulina broke through Aeron’s reminiscing as she sat back down with two large glasses of iced tea. “Now, why don’t you want to talk to Ms. Thorn? She seems to have her head screwed on right, if you don’t mind me saying so. Not like some other people your mother attracted. Some of them used her, and others just loved to party and found her a kindred spirit.”
“And you’re saying Sylvie Thorn was never at her parties?” Aeron found that hard to believe.
“Maybe once or twice when Maeve hosted regular dinner parties. I remember Ms. Thorn leaving early at one point when some of Maeve’s party friends crashed the dinner and everything became really loud. I brought her coat and she asked me who those people were. I, of course, couldn’t be disloyal to Maeve, so I just said, ‘Ms. DeForest’s friends.’ She shook her head and said ‘some friends.’ She was right, of course.”
“What was their relationship?” Curious against her will, Aeron sipped her iced tea.
“You heard her on the tape. They were business partners. I don’t know the details, but Ms. Thorn asked Maeve to invest in her company that runs a chain of spas in several cities all over the US. I can’t remember the name of it, but you’ve probably heard of it. Tons of celebrities have found their way there, some of them through Maeve.”
“Ah. So she needed an investor as well as a name to drop. A gold digger?” Aeron wrinkled her nose, and Paulina gave her a disapproving glance.
“No. Ms. Thorn’s from a prominent family in Sweden that apparently has a lot of old money. She runs the US branch of Thorn Industries here. From what Maeve said, the spas are Ms. Thorn’s own company, not involved with the family business.”
“I see.” Well, that was a lie. Aeron couldn’t figure out why her mother had suddenly shown an interest in business. Had she always done that and never told Aeron about it? Aeron had always assumed Maeve was a social butterfly who never worked but let the board of directors in charge of the DeForest fortune run it as they saw fit, as long as she had the money to do as she pleased. Was that a major misconception?
“How much did Maeve invest in this spa chain?” Reluctantly curious, Aeron plucked at her straw. A waitress showed up with their salads, and they ate some before Paulina answered.
“You’re going to have to ask her yourself. I don’t know. Judging from how she looked at the lawyer’s office, I’d guess enough to cause problems if the two of you can’t see eye-to-eye.”
This was unexpected. “But didn’t you just say this woman is super wealthy?” Aeron chewed on some baby spinach dipped in Italian vinaigrette.
“Yes, but as I also said, the best way to find out the details is to actually meet with her.” Paulina gave her a long glance. “That way you might be able to find out how she saw your mother, as I’m sure her concept differs from how I saw her and how her friends perceived her as well. Not to mention, the image you have of her. What do you have to lose?”
“My sanity for being in Manhattan longer than absolutely necessary.” Grimacing, Aeron put her fork down and wiped her mouth, her appetite waning. “Maeve is gone, and no information, old or new, can change that. I gave up on the dream of having a loving, doting mother a long time ago. She had all the chances in the world to get to know me and show she cared. Twenty-six years, to be exact.” Blinking at treacherous tears, Aeron folded her arms over her chest.
Paulina took a long sip through her straw. “Are you sure about that, sweetheart? You kept away from her once you left for college. You used money from the trust fund set up for you by Maeve and bought your little cabin, and how many times did you visit here after that? Three times? Four?”
Aghast at Paulina criticizing her, Paulina who was always on her side, Aeron drew a trembling breath. “She never came to the cabin.”
“Because you told her to never set foot there. You made it clear that was your space, and I think she was trying to respect that wish in her own way.” Paulina spoke in a sorrowful tone, which made the hair at the nape of Aeron’s neck stand up.
“I needed space. And time.” Offended now, Aeron gazed around for the waitress. She wanted to pay for the food and simply get out of the coffee shop.
“Listen, Aeron. I’m not blaming you for being alienated by your mother. You’re right. Maeve missed a lot of chances when it came to your childhood and adolescence. When she realized it looked like it might be too late to rectify her past actions, it nearly broke her. At times I thought she was trying to commit a slow suicide via alcohol and drugs. When Ms. Thorn showed up asking for partnership regarding the spas, I’d say she was in the nick of time.”
Slowly unfolding her arms, Aeron gaped. “Are you telling me Sylvie Thorn saved Maeve from self-destructing?”
“It’s as good a theory as any. Maeve found a purpose, and I know when she came home from having ‘talked nothing but business,’ as she put it, she looked determined and serious in a way I’ve never seen before. She even talked about moving permanently to her house in the Hamptons.”
Aeron had visited that house only a few times while on break from college. Her mother had renovated the beautiful two-story, 6000-square-feet house she inherited from her parents, and Aeron liked it, as it had a private beach and an Olympic-size pool.
Maeve had even offered her the run of the pool house, which was just as luxurious as the main building. Despite knowing better, Aeron had begun to lower her guard, and she and Maeve had enjoyed a more relaxed time than ever together the first week. Then the weekend came around and so did the main part of Maeve’s entourage. Aeron stayed as far away from the crowd as she could and spent her last days there at the beach, where few of her mother’s guests ventured. God forbid any of those women got a grain of sand in their perfectly coiffed beach-wavy hairdos.
“Why would she move to the Hamptons permanently?” Aeron shook her head. “The place is pretty dead in the winter.”
“She’d made other friends out there. Some of them are also friends with Ms. Thorn, who I think had a good influence on your mother.”
Her head spinning, Aeron knew she’d never felt this confused before now. She’d gone through many emotions regarding her relationship with her mother, but this feeling of having a hole open up under the very chair she sat on…She just didn’t get it. Who was this Maeve that Paulina described? Where had these characteristics of sincerity come from? Why had her mother never approached Aeron this way if this was actually true? Aeron reeled her rampaging mind in. Paulina would never lie to her. She was a constant in the many variables in this mystery. Sylvie Thorn was a dark horse of whom Aeron knew practically nothing.
“I’m going to have to bite the bullet, aren’t I?” Aeron said, moaning at the mere thought of being pulled into her mother’s web even after her death.
“If by that you mean approaching Ms. Thorn and apologizing for speaking too soon, then yes. I believe so.” Paulina wiped her mouth and put her napkin on the table. Her formerly black hair, now with a becoming white highlight at the hairline above her left eyebrow, danced against her shoulders as she shook her head. “I have a feeling you won’t regret getting to know other parts of your mother’s life. As children we think we know everything about our parents, but that’s never the case. Talk to Ms. Thorn. Perhaps you’ll enjoy getting to know her as well.”
This last part made Aeron flinch. “Nah. I don’t see us having anything to talk about.” What would a horror novelist using the pen name A.D. Solo from the Adirondacks have in common with a Swedish business tycoon in Manhattan?
Paulina grinned broadly now. “Oh, you just never know.”
Chapter Five
Sylvie sank into her favorite recliner by the panoramic window overlooking some lower buildings and, farther away, Central Park. She didn’t regret not getting the penthouse condominium, which she considered something of a cliché. The twelfth floor was high enough to help her feel secure and low enough to feel connected to the streets around her.
She loved Manhattan. Ever since she’d moved to
New York fifteen years ago and started learning the ropes at Thorn Industries Daughter Company from the bottom up, she’d inhaled the city and made it a part of her. Back in Sweden, Gothenburg had always been home, but now she only visited during stockholder meetings and other major events. Her parents always went completely overboard with such events, as if they thought they were hosting the Nobel Prize banquet. Sylvie snorted at the thought as she undid her hair from the austere twist. Her family’s wealth went all the way back to the days of King Gustav Wasa, as her father used to say. Her ancestors had already laid the foundation for the Thorn fortune in the 1600s by trading along the East India route. Sweden had been a superpower then, and the Thorn family had profited both by the spoils of war as well as the war effort itself.
“Lovely family, the Thorns,” Sylvie muttered and reached for her glass of Madeira. She sipped carefully, letting the well-rounded, sweet taste roll along her tongue. “Profiting on other people’s loss and misfortune.” She loved being in New York partially because this branch of Thorn Industries had nothing to do with weaponry or strategic software. Here, she worked with real estate, building office complexes and malls, and developing residential areas. She devoted her time to that and the charity program Thorn and a few other companies had set up to provide housing for homeless people and supply food and necessities for shelters. Sylvie found this part of Thorn Industries US-based undertakings the most rewarding. And after she’d worked herself to a pulp taking care of all that, she’d focused entirely on her guilty pleasure and ticket to validation and, ultimately, freedom—Classic Swedish Inc.
The chain of luxurious spas now consisted of eighteen day spas scattered over the US, plus one in Toronto. Maeve DeForest’s unexpected death had been disastrous in more ways than one. Sylvie had relied on her silent partner not only for financial backing, but also for her connections. As different as they had been, Sylvie would miss the flamboyant Maeve, who had a perpetual smile on her face and whose eyes often glittered with mischief. What would she do now? Her other sponsor had turned out to be a mole planted by her father to check up on her activities. If he bought Maeve’s unquoted shares in Classic Swedish Inc., Sylvie would lose control over her own company and wouldn’t be able to accomplish what she’d set out to do. Daniel would have won again.
She’d long wanted to show her father once and for all that she could manage without the Thorn fortune or his constant interference. Perhaps she was being immature, but she yearned for independence. After all these years of dancing to Daniel Thorn’s pipe, she wanted to be able to stride into his office and shove her resignation into his face.
Of course, she’d been offered promising positions over the years and could have worked for someone else, but she didn’t want that. Her father would have snickered and called her hired help if she’d chosen that route. To him, those who didn’t create their own path or run the show were spineless followers. Working for a company, even as its CEO or president, would be in his eyes a huge step downward. Did her father’s employees know of his opinions? Perhaps he paid his closest associates so well they didn’t care.
Sylvie didn’t regard the people she worked with like that. She took pride in being a modern, humane boss, making a conscious effort to not become a carbon copy of her father. This said, she wanted to one day rub it in his face how she’d used her own money and found investors who believed in her business sense and ideas enough to trust her with their money in exchange for equity. Then she’d resign from the US branch of Thorn Industries and finally escape from under Daniel’s shadow.
“But right now I have to find a new investor.” Sylvie spoke to the empty glass in her hand. “And not only that. I have to figure out how to guilt the long-lost daughter of Maeve DeForest into selling those unquoted shares to me and not my father’s front man.” If Aeron for some unfathomable reason decided to forfeit her inheritance, all bets were off. Who knew what future trustees would do when it came to Classic Swedish Inc.?
Aeron DeForest, yes. Sylvie thought back to when she and Thomas, her personal assistant, sat waiting for the DeForest heiress to arrive to the lawyer’s office. Sylvie had been stunned at how different the drenched young woman from the cemetery looked when she finally appeared. Rich, slightly wavy hair, in a unique dark-blond shade with golden highlights framed her face and reached just below her shoulders. She wore a long, light-blue shirt over black leggings, ankle boots, and a short, brown leather jacket. A small denim backpack hung over her shoulder. Her face described a perfect oval with a band of freckles adorning her narrow, slightly bent nose, and she regarded them all with level, sea-green eyes through wire-framed glasses.
When what felt like Maeve’s ghost had read the main points of her will, Sylvie had studied Aeron furtively and noticed how she became increasingly pale. It wasn’t a major shock when the young woman couldn’t take any more of the things thrown at her. In fact, had it been Sylvie’s father reading the same type of will to her after his death, Sylvie would probably have thrown up. “And there I go, fretting about dear old dad again,” Sylvie muttered, rubbing her neck.
Feeling silly for talking out loud to herself, Sylvie rose and carried her glass to the dishwasher. Always the neat freak, as her best friend at Berglund’s boarding school used to call her, Sylvie wiped off the kitchen counters and made sure even the sink was shiny. Meticulously turning off the lights in all the rooms except the hallway, where a night-light shone the way to the front door in case of emergency, Sylvie walked toward the master suite.
This was her favorite part of her condo. Here, she had refused to let anyone from the design team have their way. Blue, cream, white, and gray made this into a calm space. She didn’t even have a television in here, something most people found weird. Cheating a little bit by bringing her laptop with her, Sylvie sometimes read her emails before bed, but not always. On those days when her head spun with details of her insanely busy days, she just wanted the Zen moment of crawling into bed after a hot bath and turning off the lights. She rarely drew the blinds, as she found the flickering light from Manhattan reflecting off taller buildings in the distance soothing.
Now she put her cell phone to charge in the hallway before going into her bedroom. Just as she passed the threshold, the phone rang. She frowned. Had her mother misjudged the time difference again? It didn’t seem to matter how many years Sylvie had lived in New York, Camilla called at all hours, always surprised that she had the time wrong again. A quick glance at the display of her smart phone showed it wasn’t her mother. In fact, it was an unknown number. No one but a very select few had her private cell-phone number. Something must have happened. She answered and tried to calm her racing heart by sheer willpower.
“Sylvie Thorn speaking.”
“Oh. Hi. This is Aeron DeForest. I apologize for calling so late.” The woman at the other end sounded jittery.
Sylvie caught herself before she actually took the phone from her ear and glanced at it like they did in the movies. “Ms. DeForest. Don’t worry about it. I’m still up. What can I do for you?”
“I was rude to you today and I want to apologize.” Aeron inhaled audibly.
“Apology accepted, but honestly, it could have waited until tomorrow.” What was this about? Sylvie walked into her bedroom and set the cell phone down on speaker mode. Unzipping her skirt, she slid it over her hips and hung it on a chair.
“Yes, but no.”
“Excuse me?” Having started to unbutton her silk shirt, Sylvie stopped and turned toward the phone.
“I mean, yes, a mere apology could have waited until tomorrow, but the rest of what I have to say can’t.” The words gushed from the speaker.
“Go on.” Sylvie resumed undressing.
“I wasn’t feeling well at the lawyer’s office and totally rushed everything. I just wanted to get out of there. When Paulina called and put you on, I was still freaking out about watching my dead mother talk to me, and what I said was a stupid, knee-jerk reaction.”
Sylvie
sat down on the side of her bed slowly. “I see.” But she really didn’t. “And now?”
“We need to talk. I’m prepared to negotiate some terms with you if you’re still interested.”
Letting a few seconds go by, Sylvie kept from shouting the obvious answer, but only barely. “Yes, of course. Are you free sometime tomorrow?”
“All day, more or less. Paulina insists that I go with her to my mother’s—well, Paulina’s really—condo and pick out things I want to keep.” Aeron sounded as if this was a terrible idea. “We need to meet in the presence of Mr. Hayes, so why don’t you make an appointment that fits your schedule and call me later?”
“All right.” Sylvie hesitated, afraid to jinx this new turn of events. “May I ask why you changed your mind?”
“You may. Tomorrow. It’s kind of hard to explain and it’s late.”
“Very well.” Sylvie hoped Aeron’s terms wouldn’t be horrendously expensive or strange.
“See you tomorrow. Good night.”
“Good night.” Disconnecting from her end, Sylvie took off the last of her clothes and walked into the bathroom. Drawing a bath, she lit her favorite vanilla candle and let that be the only source of light. She stepped into the warm, bordering on hot, water, and her aching shoulders and back finally relaxed. The last few days’ tension hadn’t exactly helped her strained muscles. This had always been a problem for her. Already in middle school she’d been all tied into a knot when she had to take a test. She grew so rigid that her peers had called her the queen because of her ramrod-straight posture and regal way of walking. They had no idea her stiffened muscles were to blame. As a shy and introverted person, she was considered fair game by the press, due to her family’s notoriety, which was stressful in itself. She’d felt pressured into becoming as successful and respected as her father, even if her mother insisted that others feared Daniel rather than revered him.