Now however, it was a different story. George left that money for her, dammit! He’d repeatedly expressed his desire for her to get on with her life. “When I’m gone, darling,” he’d tell her. “I don’t want you sitting around here moping. Get out, see people, have fun. I will not allow you to die with me, do you understand?”
She did understand, but the fact was, a part of her had died. For the longest time she’d been unable to experience deep emotion. Spending copious amounts of money had not brought her any joy. Lunching with her friends was a trial, listening as they chattered on and on about their husbands, children, jobs and vacations. Claire didn’t particularly care who was “doing” whom, who was having financial difficulties or which of their friends had a “little something done.”
After the first year she dressed up, participated in charity events, usually with Travis escorting her, made a hefty donation and left early. It was a few months ago after one such event that Travis first brought up the subject of money.
“Claire,” he said, helping her off with her coat. “I’m wondering if you have any idea how out of control your expenses have gotten.”
She turned in a swirl of jeweled black silk and looked at him in surprise. Flicking a speck of lint from his lapel with her gloved fingers, she waited for him to continue.
“Am I broke?” she asked with a laugh when he failed to comment further.
“Of course not, but you have been on a bit of a spending spree and I’m wondering if something is wrong,” he answered as they moved into the living room.
“You mean other than I’m an aging, childless widow whose looks are fading fast?” she replied, pouring a glass of bourbon for him and a glass of wine for herself. Moving across the room, she seated herself at the opposite end of the sofa from him.
Travis snorted in disgust and took the glass from her outstretched hand.
“Yes, I can see you have one foot in the nursing home,” he sighed, eyeing her from the top of her shiny hair to the silk stockinged feet she crossed and placed on the coffee table. “You even have that certain nursing home smell,” he teased, sniffing the air.
“I’ll have you know this perfume is several hundred dollars an ounce,” she tossed back conversationally as she studied him, somewhat surprised at how attractive he still was after all these years.
“And worth every penny,” he agreed with a crooked smile.
“Travis,” she inquired seriously. “Is something wrong, really wrong with my finances?”
“No, sweetheart, I’ve just noticed a recent trend. You bought a bracelet that cost three times your monthly allowance a couple of weeks ago. Tonight your donation was more than generous, in fact, it bordered on foolish given your circumstances, and I don’t want you to get in over your head.”
“George left more than enough money to take care of me for the rest of my life,” she insisted, slightly offended at the scolding tone in his voice.
“Under normal circumstances yes, but I’m sure he didn’t anticipate you becoming a bit… reckless with his wealth.”
“Reckless?” she demanded, rising and glaring down at him.
“Yes, reckless, Claire. These are not your usual spending habits. While you’ve never been frugal, at least not since you met George and his fortune; you’ve never had this ostentatious streak either. I’ve always considered you… tastefully wealthy,” he informed her.
“You do realize you’re insulting me?” she grated out, her eyes flashing.
“I don’t mean to,” he sighed as he rose to tower over her. “I’m simply trying to advise you that while your finances are sound at the moment, this kind of spending will have an impact in the future. I’m afraid you’re going to have to start living within the confines of your monthly allowance, honey.”
“Go home, Travis,” she ordered, taking his drink from his hand and slamming it down on the table. He laughed when she turned him around, put her hands on his back and started pushing him toward the foyer.
“You’re not taking this very well, are you?” he asked, not bothering to hide his amusement.
“I’m only trying to ensure your future needs are well met.”
Holding out his coat, Claire bristled.
“You have no idea what my needs are,” she nearly growled back.
Travis took the coat, dropped it to the floor and grasped her upper arms. Pulling her to him, he lowered both his head and his voice.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Claire. I have a pretty good idea of a couple of things you need and if you’re not careful I might just give them to you. Do not take my concerned advice and turn it into an excuse for one of your famous tantrums. It’s been nearly two years since I’ve been subjected to one of those and I have no desire to experience it again. Now, be a good girl and take what I’ve said in the spirt it was intended,” he ordered, giving her a small shake.
“Go home, Travis,” she repeated.
Sighing he’d released her, kissed her cheek and called for the elevator.
***
Flopping onto the sofa, Claire fumed and tried her best to hang onto her anger. Ever since that night Travis had warned her, several times in fact. Each time she went to his office to ask for more money, he’d written the check and gave it to her with a steadily escalating lecture about her irresponsible behavior. He was going to have to put his foot down, he’d promised.
Well, today that foot had come down, hard. Thank goodness it was only his foot and not his hand on her bottom she thought, chewing her bottom lip. Part of her was sure he’d never really resort to that sort of thing, she was, after all, nearing forty which made him forty-four or so, but another trembling part of her warned her not to count on that. Travis didn’t seem to think a woman was ever too old for a spanking, at least she recalled him spouting off something like that once when he was talking to George. Maybe years ago, when she had a nice tight ass, she wouldn’t have minded the thought so much, but now she had her ass and half of someone else’s and she had no desire for him to see it up close and personal.
In some ways Travis was still a bit of an enigma, even after all these years. He was very attractive in a tall, dark and handsome way. He made good money, lived well and had dated many beautiful women, although no one he’d been serious about as far as she knew. While his wealth could never compete with George’s, Travis had done very well for himself and he had a stellar reputation. A man who said what he meant and meant what he said, it would be difficult now to get around him, despite her threat to have him replaced. She knew that was just crap, and he knew it too.
So what was she supposed to do now, she wondered chewing her freshly manicured nail. Sighing she stood and walked around the huge apartment mentally assessing the value of its furnishings. What did she own that she couldn’t bear to part with? Not much.
Most of the artwork had been chosen by George, who’d been something of an aficionado. Being from the Midwest, she preferred, Russell, the romantic landscapes of Bierstadt and the sculptures of Remington. Moving to her jewelry armoire, she sorted through it.
George had been fairly traditional, buying her jewelry based on the year of their anniversary. Usually there was a trip involved to somewhere she’d always longed to visit. Carefully, she fingered the gold filigree earrings he’d given her for their first anniversary, the pearls for their third, the huge sapphire necklace that had been presented to her on their fifth and the diamond necklace, earrings and bracelet set for their tenth. The last jewel she’d received was a jade dragon figurine on their twelfth. Sadly, they never made it to thirteen.
The rest were things she’d bought herself on a whim, or a dare or sometimes just because she felt down after his death. They didn’t mean anything to her, not really, and could be sold with little to no pain.
She had several furs she could part with, including a mink coat that made her feel like a small house whenever she wore it. A woman should be tall and slender to carry that off well and Claire was neither.
&n
bsp; A good deal of the furnishings could go. She rarely entertained anymore and the frequent overnight guests they’d had when George was alive no longer came. If she kept the living room, dining room and bedroom furnished well, no one would ever know many of the other rooms were empty.
Yes, she could come up with the money she needed. In fact, it wouldn’t bother her to sell the whole damn place. It wasn’t like she and George had made any happy memories here, he’d been dying when they moved in. A new start might be just the thing. Wiping away a tear that snuck up on her, she put her jewels away and moved to her desk to make a list. Travis Forrester was not going to keep her from having a good time.
***
In a remarkably short period of time, Claire managed to sell the luxury penthouse. The new owners were so happy with the discounted price they decided to buy most of the furnishings as well. Her plan was to buy another, smaller apartment but, in the meantime, she checked into the Ritz-Carlton. Fredrick, a younger man she’d met at a very dull party, suggested they enjoy a short holiday in France before they started seriously looking and it sounded like a good idea. Leaving the penthouse apartment and parting with some of George’s most prized possessions was much more emotionally draining than she’d imagined, so she jumped at the chance to get away. She ignored Travis’s phone calls.
The short holiday turned into nearly three months on the French Riviera, which cost a small fortune. Waking up one morning with a vicious hangover, she discovered that not only had Fredrick flown, but he’d taken most of her jewelry with him. Apparently he was in no hurry to return to the United States. He’d also left a rather staggering debt in her name at a Monte Carlo casino. It took nearly all she could scrape together to settle up and purchase her ticket back to New York.
Claire was more angry than worried. It particularly galled her that Travis had been right about Fredrick all along. As soon as she landed, she would get a room at the Ritz and start apartment hunting.
Ten hours later, exhausted and standing at the reception desk, Claire stared at the desk clerk in derision.
“What do you mean my card has been declined?” she demanded.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Wellington,” the middle aged man said softly. “Another card perhaps?”
“I don’t have another card,” she hissed, looking around. “This American Express is all I’ve ever used. Look, there must be something wrong with your machine there,” she insisted, pointing at the terminal.
“I scanned it three times, Mrs. Wellington,” he replied. “You’ll have to call and straighten it out, but for now I’m afraid I’m unable to process your transaction. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Listen, buddy, I have millions of dollars in the bank,” she yelled, glaring at him.
“That may well be true, ma’am, but you have nothing on this card,” he replied dismissively. “I suggest you take care of this at your convenience, but right now I have other guests waiting to check in.”
Glancing around, Claire realized she was creating a scene. Snatching her card from his outstretched hand, she gripped the handle of her bag and stormed away. What the fuck was going on? She’d deposited the money from the sale of the penthouse in her account at the bank and while she’d blown through some of it in France, showing Fredrick how much fun she could be, how generous, there should be several million left.
It was now after midnight, she had less than a hundred dollars cash and her card was malfunctioning. There was no way she would impose on any of her friends; it would be just too embarrassing for words. Besides, she looked a mess and had a severe case of jet lag coming on.
Storming out of the Ritz, she hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of the last place in the world she wanted to go.
***
Travis answered the door bare chested, a pair of black silky pajama pants riding low on his hips. If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it as he held the door open for her to enter.
“I need your help,” she said, dropping her bag in the entryway.
“Do tell,” he drawled, rubbing a hand around his neck before scratching his facial stubble.
“My AmEx card isn’t working and I need some money for a hotel.”
“The guest room is the second door on the right,” he informed her. Going into the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of milk and chugged it. Claire followed him.
“I don’t want to stay here; I want to go to a hotel.”
“Tough,” he replied, ignoring her indignant expression. “I’m going back to bed. Stay or not, it’s your choice but I’m not giving you any money.”
“But…” she stammered.
“We’ll discuss it tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder as he walked back to his room and closed the door behind him.
“Well damn,” she cried, trudging back to the entryway for her bag. She stomped down the parquet hallway, making as much noise as she could and slammed the door to the guest room behind her.
Travis lay on his bed, his arms behind his head and smiled.
***
It was nearly two in the afternoon when Claire dragged herself out of bed and plodded to the shower. While standing under the hot pelting water, it all came back to her in vivid detail. The anger she felt at Fredrick for deserting her, stealing her jewelry and leaving her with his gambling debts. The embarrassment of having her card declined and lowering herself to argue with a desk clerk while others looked on in amusement. The cold, almost resigned expression on Travis’s face when he opened his door. Leaning against the shower wall, she let the tears fall until there were none left.
She had no one; not a soul in the world truly gave two shits about her now that George was gone. She was simply a means to an end. When someone wanted a contribution, she was their best friend. Fredrick was a terribly selfish lover and Claire guessed she was good for that. He certainly got his rocks off, and then took her rocks with him. What an asshole! At least she still had money and it would be a cold day in hell before she got suckered again.
Wiping her tears, she swore off men, for good. They tried to boss you around, used you, or up and died on you. Instead, she would get herself a handy, dandy little masturbating machine and stay home, bringing herself to orgasm whenever she wanted. As soon as she found an apartment that was, and to do that she had to straighten out her bank.
Shutting off the water, Claire got out of the shower and dried off. She avoided the lighted mirror as best she could and, throwing on a robe, headed to the kitchen for coffee. Next to the pot was a note:
We need to talk. I’ll be home by six. Be here.
Travis
Claire crumbled the note and tossed it in the sink. Fat chance. By six I’ll be comfortably ensconced in the Waldorf, screw you, Ritz-Carlton. She drank her coffee on a stool at the island looking around at Travis’s remodeled kitchen. It was state of the art, strange for a man who didn’t cook. She wondered if there was a woman in his life. Perhaps he hadn’t been sleeping alone when she arrived last night. For some reason, that thought made her slightly anxious.
Slipping off the stool, she plodded down the hall to his bedroom and walked inside. His bed was neatly made, due most likely to what she viewed as his obsessive-compulsive tendencies. He did so like to be in control. On impulse, she jumped on it several times, messing up his perfect spread.
Entering his bathroom, she looked for any signs of a female companion. Nada, not even a toothbrush. The counter was perfectly wiped down and for a moment she was tempted to brush her teeth with his brush and spit in the sink. She controlled herself, barely.
Okay, no new girlfriend, at least not one who slept over. Why it mattered she had no idea, but it did. Back in the guest room, she dressed to the nines making sure her hair and make-up were perfect. Choosing a black dress and heels, she checked her appearance one last time before plucking his spare key from a shelf by the door and leaving. The doorman hailed her a cab and she was on her way to the bank. With luck, she could get back and grab
her things before he got home. The last thing she needed was another lecture.
Two hours later she was back, pacing his living room in her stocking feet, her body rigid with anger. Her heels she’d kicked off right in front of the door where she hoped he’d trip over them and break his neck. In one hand she held a glass of scotch, in the other a cigarette, which he absolutely loathed. It didn’t stop her from flicking her ashes into a crystal bowl on the mantle. At exactly six, she heard his key in the lock and stiffened even more. It was quite possible she was going to have to strangle him.
Chapter Four
Travis opened the door, kicked her shoes to the side and set his briefcase on the foyer table. Taking off his coat, he hung it neatly in the closet and loosened his tie. It was not going to be a pleasant evening. The bank called him shortly after she left this afternoon and the manager was most distressed at both Claire’s tone and language. Mrs. Wellington would not be allowed inside the branch office, if she could not learn to control her temper.
After assuring the man it would not happen again, Travis sank into his executive leather chair and decided that tonight might just be the night Claire learned he was not a man to be trifled with. Good Lord, that sounded pretentious. No, tonight was not a night to mince words and niceties. To be blunt, the shit was going to hit the fan!
“Good evening,” he said, walking into the living room and shrugging out of his suit jacket.
“Where’s my money?” she demanded, taking a drag on her cigarette.
“You have lots of money, Claire. Are you asking about something in particular?” he asked as he unbuttoned his cuffs and began to roll up his shirt sleeves.
“You know damn well what money. The money from the sale of my apartment,” she hissed, pointing at him with her cigarette.
“Put it out, Claire,” he said, nodding at her hand.
Widow on the Loose Page 3