by Sandra Brown
“She loved her job, Erik. Why would she quit like that?”
“I had to bribe one of the salesgirls with lunch to find that out. It seems that one of the male employees had the hots for Kathleen. He was married.”
“Well, that explains that. Kathleen would never become involved with a married man,” Edna declared firmly.
Erik snorted rudely as he stood up and went to the window. When he faced them again, anger oozed from every pore in his body. “How do you know? Maybe she’s a scheming, lying little slut that deceived us all.”
“Now just a minute, young man.” Edna flew off the couch and rounded on Erik, shaking her finger in his face. “Don’t talk that way about Kathleen. You know it’s not true just as I do. I’ll not have you stand here in my house and bad-mouth her.”
“Then why did she run away like some guilty or frightened child?” he demanded.
Edna’s anger evaporated and her body sagged with dejection. She rubbed her temples as if they pained her. “I don’t know,” she said slowly.
“Maybe she is a frightened child,” B. J. spoke quietly from the couch. “Maybe with you lying injured, possibly dying, she couldn’t face it, she couldn’t risk it, couldn’t stand the thought that she might lose you. I think I’m safe in assuming that she had formed quite an attachment to you.” B. J. narrowed his eyes on Erik, waiting for a confession, but when none was forthcoming, he went on. “I grant you this. She’s setting a dangerous precedent in her life, always running from adversity. One day, she’ll have to meet a problem head-on. And it won’t be easy for her. She hasn’t prepared herself for it.”
Erik seemed to reflect on that for a moment, but then his features dropped back into an impenetrable mask. “Well, for whatever reason, she ran away from you and me and made it quite clear that she doesn’t want to be found.” He picked up his discarded denim jacket from the back of the chair and walked to the door. “I’ve wasted two months of my life looking for her, and I don’t intend to invest any more. I’ll let you know when the piece about the camp is going to air. Thank you for all your help.” The words were clipped, curt and, Edna thought, forced. Underneath that stern resolve, she thought she detected an unspeakably painful disillusionment.
She was sure of it when she watched Erik walk to his Dodge van, get in and slam the door. He rested his bowed head against the steering wheel in utter desolation before he seemed to gain enough initiative to turn the key and start the motor.
Chapter Nine
Kathleen tugged on the skirt that rode slightly above her crossed knees in a ladylike gesture that caused the middle-aged secretary to smile. Such an attractive girl, she thought.
Kathleen returned the smile. She was the paragon of professionalism as she sat in the beautifully decorated outer office awaiting her interview with Mr. Seth Kirchoff, owner of the exclusive department store Kirchoff’s in San Francisco.
Her calm facade belied the tumult within. Could anyone guess that inside Kathleen was shivering with anxiety? She needed this job so badly. It went beyond economic necessity. She needed it to restore her sanity, her equilibrium, both of which had been unbalanced since she had sat in that hospital waiting room in Arkansas and watched Erik’s wife rush to his side.
Unconsciously, Kathleen squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to blot out the pain the vision still caused. Immediately, she opened them and darted a glance at the secretary, hoping that the woman hadn’t seen that moment of weakness. She hadn’t. She was leaning over a file cabinet behind her desk.
After two months, one would think the agony would have subsided, the ache would have become only a dull reminder; but the memory was there constantly, an open, gaping wound, still raw and bleeding.
Kathleen turned her face toward the wide picture window and gazed out at the San Francisco skyline. She noted the Transamerica Building and, far in the distance, the Bay, sparkling like a great sapphire in the brilliant sunlight.
How could she have been so naive? Why hadn’t she even considered the possibility that he was married? It had not once occurred to her. She had been so dazzled by the man, held by his magnetism, that she hadn’t looked beyond the obvious.
His seeming to care for her was all a sham. Tears of shame and humiliation clouded Kathleen’s eyes when she remembered how she had responded to him both physically and emotionally. His tutelage had been expert and she had been all too willing. The intimacies that had seemed so sacred when they had shared them now offended her.
At the hospital, when she had heard the pretty woman identifying herself as Mrs. Gudjonsen, by virtue of her name having the right to stand by Erik’s bedside, be privy to the information that had been withheld from Kathleen, she had wanted to flee, to run until she was exhausted and then slip off the edge of the earth to be swallowed up by oblivion.
She had fled. She had returned to the airport and waited there through the night while cleanup crews hauled away the wreckage of the crash and restored the field to operational capacity. Boarding the first plane going east, she had returned to Atlanta.
In the space of a few minutes, Kathleen Haley had grown up. Before, she had considered herself to be a mature woman, wise to the ways of the world, well acquainted with heartache and suffering.
What a fool she had been. Erik had robbed her of her innocence in more ways than taking her virginity. He had shown her just how self-serving a man could be. David Ross was an amateur compared to Erik Gudjonsen. Kathleen hadn’t known such intentional deceit could exist. Now she did. Never would she walk so blindly into any kind of relationship. The young woman she’d formerly been was gone. In her place was a woman with bruised hands and a bruised heart. Both would be a long time in healing.
She bought a Little Rock newspaper for several consecutive days, avidly poring over the accounts of the accident. Erik’s name never appeared on the list of casualties. To relieve her own mind, she called the hospital and was told he was mending well and would soon be released. When asked if she wished to be connected to his room or to leave a message, she declined.
Uppermost on her list of priorities was to close this chapter of her life. If she could have rubbed it out of her history, she would have done so, but that wasn’t possible. Her only hope was to put it behind her, chalk it up as a learning experience and go on from there. She wanted to start over, in another place, as another person, so she emptied her apartment and moved into a modest hotel until she could decide what to do.
For weeks, nothing happened. She read the classified ads in all the out-of-town newspapers she could buy on the Atlanta newsstands. She mailed letters of inquiry to major department stores all over the country, but if she received any reply at all, it was usually a polite but impersonal rejection. All the while, her bank account dwindled as surely as her spirits, which hadn’t recovered from the death-blow they had been dealt.
Then she saw a classified ad in a trade journal. There was no name, no telephone number, only a post office box to which to send a résumé. According to the ad, several jobs were open, but they weren’t listed specifically. Mechanically and without hope, she mailed the requested information, knowing that it was a shot in the dark.
To her surprise, she received an answer within a few days. If she was still interested in a job as fashion buyer, she was to call the enclosed telephone number and make an appointment.
If she was still interested! Quickly, Kathleen checked her bank balance and decided that if she lived frugally, it would be worth it to gamble on a trip to California.
“Ms. Haley?”
She jumped out of her reverie when the composed, assured secretary called her name. Another woman, chic, slim and fashionable, was coming out of the inner office. She eyed Kathleen with a calculating, shrewd look as she passed her on her way out the door. This applicant wanted the job, too.
“Mr. Kirchoff will see you now,” the secretary said graciously. “I’m sorry you had to wait.”
“Thank you,” Kathleen answered in kind. “I didn’
t mind.”
She walked on trembling legs toward the austere door and went in. Why was she nervous? This wasn’t like her. She was usually so sure of herself. Was this to be another legacy of Erik Gudjonsen’s? This uncharacteristic self-consciousness and insecurity?
With determination to put down her feelings of inferiority, she tilted her chin back and crossed the luxuriantly deep blue carpet toward the intimidatingly large desk.
The man behind it glanced up at her with a detached expression, then almost did a double take as he lifted his dark eyes in a full, long appraisal. “Ms. Kathleen Haley?” he asked in a well-modulated voice.
“Yes,” she said, smiling.
“Sit down please. I’m Seth Kirchoff.” Though he didn’t stand, she accepted the well-manicured hand proffered across the desk and shook it.
“Thank you, Mr. Kirchoff,” she said as she sat down. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She was gaining her momentarily lost confidence now. She knew that she looked the part of the stylish, competent fashion buyer. Her linen suit was lightweight, as was dictated by the season, but the antique gold color bespoke the end of that season. The slim skirt fit her size six body to perfection. The short jacket was crisp but softened to femininity by the cream crepe blouse underneath it. Her brown pumps and matching clutch bag were a treat to herself from Gucci she had splurged on during a trip to New York the year before. The gold spheres in her ears were the correct amount of jewelry. Her dark auburn hair, enriched by the color of the suit, had been pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, but again was spared from severity by the natural wisps that lay on her cheek. She had artfully applied her makeup, the carefully chosen colors coordinating with her ensemble and her own coloring.
She looked at the man across the desk and took in his own handsome features. His hair was dark and wavy, hugging close to his well-shaped head. He was very good looking in a sensitive sort of way. He was not ruggedly virile like—
Stop that! Kathleen commanded herself as she continued to assess Mr. Kirchoff. His mouth was sensual, soft. His nose was long, narrow and sculpted to harmonize with the rest of his face.
Handsome as he was, it was his eyes that arrested Kathleen’s attention. They were a rich chocolate-brown, deep, dark, but not mysterious, as such eyes were usually characterized. They were open, warm, and bespoke sincerity and… what?… Compassion?
Kathleen’s green eyes slid down over the molded chin to the well-defined shoulders. There her gaze froze. Where she had expected to see an oversized leather chair, befitting a man of Mr. Kirchoff’s position, she saw the incongruous shine of chrome. Seth Kirchoff was sitting in a wheelchair.
Her fondest wish at that moment was that he hadn’t detected her shock, but he had. “It is rather gruesome when you first see it, isn’t it?” he asked, looking down at the arms of the chair. “But once you get used to it, it isn’t so bad.” He raised those compelling eyes to hers and smiled.
“I don’t find it gruesome,” she replied honestly. “It’s just that it was unexpected.”
He grinned winningly. “I’ve often considered putting a sign outside that read ‘Beware: Man in Wheelchair Inside.’ ”
Kathleen laughed spontaneously. “You might weed out a lot of tedious interviews that way.”
“I might at that. Maybe I should do it.” They smiled at each other, each frankly approving of the other. “At the risk of sounding piteous, I’ll tell you straightaway that I was in an automobile accident the night of my college graduation. Three of my fraternity brothers were killed. I was spared, but a broken back left me paralyzed from the waist down.”
“You were very lucky.”
He propped his chin on his fists, supporting them with his elbows on the arms of his chair. “That’s a very unusual response, Ms. Haley. Most people would say, ‘I’m sorry,’ or something to that effect. Over the years, I’ve catalogued people’s reactions to my disability. They either express pity or embarrassment, and won’t look me in the eye, or else they ignore it totally, as though if they don’t see it, it will go away. You have done none of those. I think I like you, Ms. Haley.”
She grinned. “I think I like you, too.”
He laughed good-naturedly. “Would you like some coffee?” Without waiting for her answer, he pressed a button on his desk component, and within seconds the secretary was in the office.
“Ms. Haley, this is Mrs. Larchmont. She insists that I call her that in spite of our friendship.”
“I wouldn’t want anyone to suspect that we’re carrying on a hot and heavy love affair,” retorted Mrs. Larchmont. Claire Larchmont was a woman in her early fifties, Kathleen guessed accurately. Kathleen thought she was an executive’s dream for an attractive, competent assistant.
It was apparent that these two shared a mutual affection and were secure enough in that relationship to tease each other. She turned to Kathleen. “You may call me Claire.”
“Ms. Haley, would you like some coffee?” Seth asked her again.
“Yes, with cream please,” she addressed Claire.
“And I—” Seth started.
“I know what you want, Mr. Kirchoff,” she said as she left the office.
“She’s priceless, isn’t she?” Seth asked Kathleen.
“The two of you seem to work very well together,” she said.
“Yes, we do.” He clasped his hands together on the desk and said, “Now, I want to tell you what I’m looking for.”
He launched into a brief history of the department store, which had been established by his grandfather in the 1920s. Over the years, through the Depression and World War II, Kirchoff’s had managed to survive. Seth’s father had taken control of the business after the war and had increased its volume of business and profits. He had died three years ago.
“One might think that the business would have naturally fallen to me, but it was specified in my father’s will that the reins of power go to my uncle. You see, Father thought that when the rest of me had been paralyzed, so had my brain. He never quite forgave me for becoming a cripple.”
There was no bitterness in Seth’s voice, only a deep-lying sadness. “Anyway, my uncle died last year quite suddenly, and virtually by force, I moved into this office.”
He paused in his story long enough to accept a silver tray from Claire. On it were china cups and a carafe of coffee. When the coffee had been poured and served, Claire withdrew, leaving them alone again.
“Ms. Haley, Kirchoff’s has the potential of being an important name in the fashion industry of San Francisco, but it has been in the hands of old men with no vision, my father included.”
He sipped his coffee, then continued, “When I seized control, I began to lop off heads—figuratively, of course.” He smiled and Kathleen was blessed with the full impact of his charm. “It wasn’t an easy thing to do, since some of the people I fired had been here for twenty years or more, but nonetheless it was necessary. I gave the supervisor of each department ample time to restructure his or her section. When he or she didn’t, he was excised. Forgive me.” He paused. “Would you care for more coffee?”
“No, thank you,” she said, replacing her cup on the tray.
“I’ll get to the point of this interview, Ms. Haley. I know you must wonder where all this is leading.”
“I haven’t been bored, Mr. Kirchoff.”
He returned her smile and then pressed a lever that engaged the gears of his motorized chair. He steered it around the desk until he was beside her chair. Judging from the length of his body and legs, he must have stood tall before his accident.
“I’m looking for someone to coordinate all the fashion buying for my store. And I’ll share a secret with you. There will be two more stores under construction by the end of the year. By next Christmas, there will be three Kirchoff’s in the Bay Area.”
“How wonderful!” she exclaimed sincerely.
“I hope so. But I want our image to grow with the expansion. For years, we have catered to a pa
rticular customer. She buys four to six dresses a year. She is very conservative and budget-minded. Her taste is reserved. Her imagination, nil.”
“I know the customer well. The scourge of every fashion merchant,” Kathleen said dryly.
He laughed. “That’s why we need to update our image. I want the clientele of Kirchoff’s to change. I want the customer who buys four to six ensembles a season. She is stylish, fashion-minded, courageous, a trendsetter. She’s a mover and shaker. Active in civic affairs. Professional. Possibly both. In either case, she dresses the part. She also outfits her children as stunningly as herself.”
“Wow,” Kathleen said, impressed. “You have done your market research.”
“Indeed I have. I want an updated misses’ department that handles everything from sexy lingerie to debutante gowns. I want an extensive junior department that will carry mother’s little darling from her first training bra to her bridesmaids’ dresses.”
Kathleen’s mind was ticking. “Price range?” she asked.
“Expensive to very expensive.”
“Accessories?”
“Only the best. If a customer needs a three-hundred-fifty-dollar belt to set off her silk evening skirt, I want her to know she can come to Kirchoff’s and find a large selection of them.”
“Men’s and children’s?”
“I’ve hired other buyers for those departments, but you’d have the authority to check their orders and make certain they’re keeping pace with your departments.”
“Do you want to stay with domestic designers?”
His brow creased in concentration. “Not exclusively, but I prefer to buy out of New York rather than Europe. Yankee pride, I guess.”
“Your buying budget?”
“At this point, it’s unlimited. We’ll be jumping in all the way.”
It was a dream come true! Unconsciously, Kathleen gnawed her bottom lip as she envisioned all she could do with such unrestricted license.