“Julia, I’ve been above-board with Marshall about that, and I don’t have anything to say to you about it today.” If I could, Preston thought, I would fly from this room and out of the county to get away from Julia’s probing dark eyes. Besides, why is Marshall letting her do his dirty work, instead of talking to me himself?
“Not so fast, Preston. I’ve been gathering documents from various sources over the years, and there are some discrepancies I’ve found related to the investments you made on behalf of their estates. I believe you owe Marshall and me an explanation, and I think we should set up a plan to address them. If I am correct, you owe Marshall a very expensive apology.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Julia. Just what are you accusing me of?”
“No accusations at this point, just questions--many questions.”
“Look, I’m a former secretary of the treasury, for God’s sake. Why would I get my hands dirty with something like what you are implying?”
“These discrepancies pre-date your big power position, Preston. But unless we straighten them out soon, they may come back to kick you in the proverbial butt.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“Take it however you wish,” Julia retorted, trying to maintain a calmness she did not feel. “When can we meet to discuss this?”
“I’ll think about it and let you know,” Preston answered, trying to buy time. I haven’t a clue what Julia’s grievance is, but if she and Marshall think they are going to get big sums of money from me, they’ve got another think coming. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to check on Nicole.”
“Don’t make me wait too long, Preston. These are not easy times for money disputes, even if we are in the one percent.”
Chapter 12
Caro stood beside the long dining table, fingertips grazing one of the menus, gold-embossed on sheer scalloped paper, that had been placed on every service plate. When she had first shown it to John E., he told her it was a culinary program fit for royalty.
Menu
Hors d’oeuvres
Champagne Krug, 2000
First Course
Bouillabaisse with Loupe
Chablis Grand Cru Les Clos, 1990
Second Course
Pate’d’Foie Gras, Toast Points
Sauterne Chateau d’Yquem, 1990
Third Course
Fresh Halibut Cheeks
Corton Charlemagne Grand Cru, 2006
Fourth Course
Bibb Lettuce with Hearts of Palm, Vinaigrette
Fifth Course
Wood Roasted Squab, Boysenberry Sauce
Richebourg Leroy, 1991
Sixth Course
Rack of Lamb Persillade
Chateau Lafitte Rothschild, 1982
Seventh Course
Selection of Fine Cheeses
Graham’s Vintage Port, 1977
Eighth Course
Triple Chocolate Torte with Chocolate Ganache
Truffles a la Vicki
Hennessy Paradio Cognac and Other Cordials
Her pleasant reverie was interrupted by the sound of heavy treads emanating from the stairwell.
Preston barely glanced at the menu as he stormed past the dining room on his way to check on Nicole. His mind was a volcano, magma forming lava, about to erupt. How dare that bitch insinuate that I stole from her and that mealy-mouthed husband of hers! If they think they could have done better investing the Winthrops’ money, they should have...Well, they couldn’t have invested it themselves, because Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop entrusted me with it while Marshall was in Viet Nam. By the time he came back, the parents were both gone. And the money...damn if I can remember, it was so long ago. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to recall the details. I was just getting started, and I might have made some bad investments...Anyway, it really wasn’t all that much money lost, at least by today’s standards.
Preston strode into the family room where Nicole lay on the sofa, her hair fanned out on the pillow, her eyes closed, and her breathing soft and even. He shook his head as if to clear it of all thoughts of Julia and Marshall. He tried to muster feelings of sympathy for Nicole. Her swollen foot looked so uncomfortable in that appliance. He knew how a devoted husband should feel, sorrowful to see her suffer, perhaps a bit guilty for having put her into the position of endangerment, solicitous of her comfort now. He just wasn’t good at any of this. What he felt as he stared at his sleeping wife was annoyance. He was annoyed by the fact that Nicole’s injury would provoke expectations of him, expectations that he couldn’t or wouldn’t live up to.
He exhaled with a deep sigh and sank into the chair next to Nicole.
Preston flexed his knee, suddenly aware that the oxycodone had taken effect. He felt a drowsiness beyond that of the drug. It’s been a long day, he thought, as he ran his fingers through his hair again. And it’s going to be a long night, too. He remembered the length of the printing on the scalloped menus. Maybe I’ll go upstairs and take a quick nap and shower before dinner.
***
On his way up the stairs to the fourth floor, Preston encountered Vicki, descending from the third floor with several white boxes in her arms. Preoccupied with his own thoughts, Preston was about to pass by her without comment, but Vicki had something different in mind.
“Oh, Preston. Would you mind helping me take the truffles downstairs to the kitchen? I made them as a birthday gift for John E., and I didn’t want to bring them down until just before tonight’s dinner.”
“Why don’t you get Leon to help you, Vicki? I’m really tired, and I’m going in the opposite direction.”
Vicki gasped with disbelief, her mouth forming a wordless cavern for several seconds. She blurted back, “That’s so typical of you, Preston. You are a Class-A Jerk.”
Not unfamiliar with being called a jerk, Preston had no such delay in forming his response. “Well, I don’t like you much, either, Vicki. You are a Class-A Drunkard.”
Vicki set the boxes of candy on the landing, her fists clenched as if about to throw a punch. “You listen to me. Anything you don’t like about Leon or me is all your own fault. If you hadn’t insisted on having that idiotic birthday party for your son Peter, everything would have been different.”
“Don’t lay that on me,” Preston countered. “I didn’t kill your son. It was an accident.”
“I begged Tony not to go to that party. I thought it was irresponsible from the get-go to allow sixteen year-olds to race sailboats on the Hudson, but Tony said you were making fun of him, making fun of me. You practically dared Tony to participate.”
Oh, no. Not another crazy female verbally attacking me. What is this, Pick On Preston Day? “Vicki, I’m sorry about the accident, okay? I wish it had never happened, but no amount of talking will bring Tony back.” He scooped up the boxes of truffles. “If it will make you feel any better, I’ll carry these downstairs for you.”
Before Vicki could say another word, Preston turned his back and moved toward the first floor with a speed and limberness that surprised even him. Following in his wake, Vicki shouted, “Nothing you could ever do would make me feel any better.”
When he reached the kitchen, Preston deposited the boxes on the soapstone counter without a word, turned on his heel, and intended to resume his climb to the fourth floor, leaving Vicki in the kitchen with Caro.
Before he crossed the threshold, though, Caro grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “What’s going on?”
“Why don’t you ask your drunken buddy here, cousin? I’m sure she’ll be glad to fill you in on all of the details.” He pulled away from Caro as if her touch had stung. As he exited the room, he muttered, “I must say you and John E. have a bunch of losers for friends.”
***
He was just wondering how this day could get any worse when he encountered Margo in the second floor hallway.
“What’s going on out here, Preston?” Margo asked. “Was that Vicki I heard yelling?�
�
Margo’s concerned expression was a refreshing oasis. Preston wanted to drink in her soft voice, her classic beauty, and her silky lounging outfit. Why hadn’t he married her when he’d had the chance? Well, maybe I can make up for that now, he thought. He touched Margo’s shiny auburn hair with the reverence of a worshiper. “Margo, I’m so glad to bump into you. I’ve been thinking about you all day. We need to talk.”
“Preston, I don’t know,” Margo replied, tossing her head as if to free herself from his touch, keeping her voice low.
“Can you come upstairs to my room, Margo? Please?” His pleading tone was uncharacteristic. “I don’t want to disturb everyone’s rest, and I do need to talk to you.”
***
Margo wavered. She knew better than to trust Preston, but she was flattered by the attention, and she was frankly curious about what might happen next. “Well, just for a minute, and just to talk. Understood?”
Preston looked into Margo’s eyes, and his face lit up with that dimpled smile. He took Margo’s hand in his, as he led her in a silent waltz up the two flights of stairs to his quarters. At that moment, Margo realized she was lost, whether in the past or in the future. When Preston touched her, she was powerless to say no.
Chapter 13
When they reached the fourth floor apartment, Preston pulled Margo into an embrace. Her silky loungewear had the lightness of a negligee, and he could feel the delicious curves of her body. She stiffened, though, and whispered, “Just to talk, remember?” She smelled of Shalimar perfume, a scent he had always associated with her.
He released her and moved to close the door. She perched on one of the chenille-upholstered chairs in front of the room’s small window. The late afternoon light softened the very air in the room. Preston looked at the bed, willing her to relocate. When he saw that she was ensconced in the chair, at least for the time being, he sat in the matching chair and took her hand in his. He thought before speaking.
“Have you thought about our conversation from last night?” he finally asked.
“Yes, of course, I have,” Margo answered, not meeting his eyes. Her other hand clutched a bit of fabric from her pants leg, and she rolled the material back and forth against itself.
“Well? What are your thoughts?”
“To be honest, Preston, I don’t know why you want me, when you have a beautiful young wife in your life. You’re newlyweds, for God’s sake.”
For a fleeting second Preston wondered, himself. There was no explanation, beyond the fact that he was driven to possess Margo Martin, here and now. “Why did Prince Charles want Camilla when he had Diana?” Preston replied. “I fell in love with you first. I’ve always loved you.”
Margo bit her lip. “I think you’ve always wanted what you couldn’t have.” She removed her hand from his. “We could have had a wonderful life together, but you had to get involved with my best friend.”
Preston leaned forward, elbows on knees, moist eyes seeking hers. “Please, Margo. I’ve grown up since then. I know what I want now. I’ve known since you walked into the room yesterday afternoon. It’s all I can think of.” He searched her face for confirmation that he was getting through to her. “Losing you was the biggest mistake of my life. I know that now. Please let me make it up to you. I know we could be very happy together.”
“So, now, you’re prepared to divorce Wife Number Four? To break her heart?” Margo rose and began pacing around the room, arms crossed. “Pardon me if I can’t quite believe that.”
“If that’s what it takes, that’s what I’ll do. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Margo. I feel that this weekend, John E.’s birthday, the whole thing, was fated to bring us back together. I don’t want to waste another minute of our lives being apart.”
Margo took a deep breath before allowing her thoughts to tumble out. “If you mean what you say, Preston, then you will have to prove it to me before we go any further.”
“How can I prove it to you?” He held his breath--Hercules ready to accept his task.
“Tell Nicole you want a divorce, that you are going to marry me.”
A struggle played out on Preston’s face as he considered this request, his eyes never leaving Margo’s. “Done. I’ll tell her tonight.”
Margo grinned, her asymmetrical smile making Preston want to ravage her right then. “Maybe you should wait until she gets through her surgery. And, besides, you may not have an opportunity to tell her with all these people around.”
“No, I want to show you I mean what I say. And I want to show you in other ways, too. Meet me up here tonight after everyone has gone to sleep.” Preston took her hand in his again and held it to his lips. “We need to be together. After our kiss on the stairway last night, I know you feel it, too.”
“I’ll think about it, but no promises.” Margo shrugged and turned her back. “I need some time to think.”
The sounds of running water and muted voices of guests preparing for the dinner party were drifting up the stairs. Preston stood up and drew Margo into an embrace. “We belong together, you and me. Don’t think too long.”
“How will I know if you have talked to Nicole?” Margo asked.
“How about this? If I’ve told her, I’ll leave this door open for you to come in. If I haven’t had the chance, I’ll close the door when I come upstairs. That way you’ll know before you come in. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” Margo replied, looking pleased for the first time. She planted a chaste kiss on his lips and smiled. “Now, I believe we have to get ready for a very important party.”
Chapter 14
Andrea and Stan were conversing across the wide expanse of granite between their his-and-hers dressing tables at their own country retreat as they dressed for the dinner party at Bucolia.
“You know, I feel sorry for Nicole,” Andrea said, tilting her head toward Stan, as she threaded a simple gold and diamond earbob through her right earlobe.
“Why’s that?” Stan replied, preoccupied with tying his Hermes tie.
“Well, she seems so out of place here. She clearly has had no experience with horses. I think the only reason she went riding was because she wanted to be with Preston. And then, he rode ahead with all of the guys, oblivious to her needs or feelings.”
Stan smiled at his wife. “And leaving you to play nursemaid to her. Are you blaming Preston for the accident?”
“Not at all. It’s just that I think she is head-over-heels crazy about him, and I get the sense that he regards her as nothing more than a pretty collectible that he can bring out of the showcase whenever he desires.”
“Because she’s so much younger?” Stan asked. “I don’t have to remind you of our age difference.”
“No, Stan. You have never treated me like that. And our marriage is nothing like theirs, thankfully. I just sense that she would like for there to be more substance to their marriage, that’s all.” Andrea put the final touches on her hair and used the hand mirror to check the back of it. “I called Caro to check on Nicole’s condition this afternoon. She’s left the hospital, probably against medical advice, with pins and hardware holding her ankle together. I’ll bet that was Preston’s doing, not hers. When she left in the ambulance, she was in a lot of pain.” Andrea bent to place a black lace Jimmy Choo pump on each foot. “I’m dreading this evening for some reason. I just don’t have a good feeling about it.”
Stan stood, checked his reflection in the mirror, and walked over to Andrea, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Your instincts are usually pretty good. I’m glad Preston and Nicole aren’t our problem.” He paused, frowning, started to say something, and then apparently changed his mind. “About ready to go, sweetheart? You can check up on your young friend in person in just a few minutes.”
***
Nicole was dreaming about a handsome prince on a white horse. He had scoured the countryside, looking for the woman whose foot would fit into the Waterford crystal shoe that had been left behin
d at the ball. She waved him over to the plush sofa, where she was sitting, her right foot held aloft, toe pointed daintily. Determined to make the shoe fit, she pushed and pushed against the glass. The pressure was so great she was afraid it would shatter shoe and foot alike. She heard a voice from behind her, saying, “That’s enough. You don’t want it to turn to butter.” My foot, turn to butter? she thought. As the whirring of the beaters ceased, Nicole opened her eyes to a flurry of sounds, smells, and, yes, pain.
“Ohhhh,” she moaned, as she tried to sit up without jostling her foot. The pins fixed into her bones felt like molten javelins. She wanted to scream, whether from pain or terror, she didn’t know. Instead, she cried softly, wishing she could return to the dream.
After helping Nicole to change out of her ruined riding clothes and clean up a bit, Caro had put a small table next to the sofa with tissues, a bottle of Pellegrino, a glass of ice, and Nicole’s pain pills on it. Nicole poured herself a glass of water and took a sip, swishing it around in her dry mouth. I must have slept for hours, she thought. She checked her Baume Mercier watch and frowned. Everyone will be coming down for dinner soon, I’ll bet. I wonder where Preston has gone. Maybe he went up to get ready. “I should have stayed in the hospital,” she said aloud. “My foot is killing me, my back is stiff, and I probably look a total wreck. Why did I let him talk me into coming back here tonight?”
“Oh, are you awake, m’lady?” the British bartender asked, as he passed the sofa carrying a tray of polished crystal. “I hope I didn’t rouse you.”
“No problem,” Nicole replied, stretching her arms and arching her back. I just can’t get comfortable. This is sheer misery. Must be time for another pain pill. She opened the plastic container and poured the pale blue pills into her hand. There were enough to fill her palm completely. I wonder if there are enough of these babies to get me through this horrible pain. Boy, being married to a rich guy isn’t half as great as I thought it’d be. I’ve just traded old worries for new ones.
Murder in the One Percent Page 7