Lovers and Reprisals (Lovers Series) (7 page)

They were at the top of the stairs, entering the main kitchen.  The servants were moving around stoves and granite countertops; filling trays with finger foods and busy making certain this party would be talked about for weeks to come.  Weaving through this cast of characters, Lucien used this opportunity to comfort Marisela.

“Maris...” he said,

“Have you contacted your parents?  By now--they may have heard something.”

Marisela shook her head, causing the room to spin.  She said...

“Shouldn’t have done that.”

At first, Lucien didn’t understand what she’d meant--that is, he didn’t understand until she began leaning like a snapped branch on a tree.  He steadied her, leveling her until she stood upright. He placed one hand on either side of her shoulders, guiding her to a chair.  When he helped her down, he looked into her eyes.  The sclera was bloodshot and he imagined that tomorrow,
the events of this day would be a blur.  If he was right, not remembering would be a blessing in disguise. 

Lucien lowered his mouth near her ear, then he said...

“Relax--I’ll get someone to take care of you.”

The Delors celebration was a wildly popular party and attendance required that the guest wear white.  The house was packed with the who’s who of societies rich and powerful people, and they were all dressed in white on white.  The room looked like a sea of clouds, dripping jewels like raindrops, and that made spotting his sister all the more difficult.  When he thought he might have to search the entire house, across the room, Lucien spotted his sister and her husband Clive.  He gestured, causing Chantel to crane her head.  After a few seconds, she noticed that her brother was pointing at Marisela. 

The Delors Uptown home, was one of the families larger inner city brownstones.  The place was so large that it took up half of a city block; with a helipad on the roof. Shortly after midnight, the doors had opened, and
their New Year’s Day White Ball celebration had begun.  As one of the wealthier families in the city, the Delors family were somewhat like royalty. 
Lucien watched as his sister tried her best to cross the room all the while being respectful whenever she was stopped to talk to a group of people.  She would smile, then say a pleasant remark, while wishing them well, and telling them to enjoy the Ball.  One after the other, Chantel chitchatted, then excu
sed herself until finally she was standing alongside Lucien.

Her brother wasted no time, saying...

“Chantel--could you please see to your friend.  I have an errand to run.”

Chantel looked at her brother after considering her friend.

Mildly shocked, Chantel said...

“Oh my lord--she looks a mess.  What happened to her?”

“What always happens on a day like this--the story never changes.  Overindulgence.  Liqueur can be a powerful remedy for weak-minded people”

“Lucien!  Don’t be mean.”

“She’s drunk.”

Lucien had never cared much for Marisela, but he’d always been respectful whenever they shared the same space.  In spite of his right to have his own opinion, his sister chided him.

“And for good reason--I’m only sad that I didn’t noticed the signs.  I could have prevented this from happening.”

Chantel understood her friends heartache but she had other things to consider.  Her family was hosting this Ball and she saw no need to dampen the spirits of their other guest. 
On a day like today, no one wanted to witness pouting and they surely didn’t want to see a grown woman using liquor to drown her woes.  No--that just wouldn’t do.  Appearances were important, and too easily stained. 

Chantel faced her brother, with her back to the crowd.  She couldn’t chance being overheard.

“Don’t worry--I’ll take care of this.  I’ll instruct someone to assist her to one of the guest bedrooms.  She’ll be out of the way--and she’ll have time to sober up--or sleep it off.”

Lucien nodded, then he walked away while thinking; problem solved.  Chantel snapped her fingers, gaining the attention of the person nearest her.  She instructed the maid to take Marisela to one of the guest bedrooms, and to remain with her, making sure that her friend rested comfortably.  With that done, Chantel hurried to catch her brother.  She hooked their arms, then joined him as he weaved through a crowd of people.

“It’s a shame Lucien.  I think Marisela’s brother has finally lost his marbles.  Who invites friends to a New Year’s Day party--then snubs them, by not even being at home.  Who does that?”

Lucien nodded and smiled at some of the guest, while creating a path wide enough for him and his sister.

He said...

“Don’t be a part of the problem Chantel.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“Practically every person in this house has an opinion about Tollin and the fact that he brushed off his remaining friends.  The guy had a bad year and maybe he needed some time to himself.  Did you consider that?  Maybe solitude is what he wants...and can you blame him?”

She drew in close, not to be overheard when she said...

“His parents arrived at his home in Santa Barbara--but, they didn’t find anything indicating that he’d spent the night there.”

“Chantel...don’t feed into the gossip.  All of this hullaballoo floating around this house...don’t believe any of it because I don’t think any of it is true.  Can you imagine the thoughts that haunt Tollin?  Think about the images that form his dreams.  I don’t know about you, but if our places were switched, by now, I’d be a basket-case.   For goodness sake, the man was responsible for a little girl loosing her life.”

He’d not meant to sound crass because he mirrored his sisters concern.  He shared this sentiment when he asked...  

“Doesn’t he moor his yacht at the marina?”

“Yes.  According to my sources, the Pettier’s are flying back to the city and one of their first stops will be at the marina.”

In the distance Lucien eyed his parents
.  They were talking to the mayor and seeing them had sparked a concern.  He wondered if Marisela’s parents had notified the local police or if they’d enlisted help from some of their insider connections.

“Lucien...”

His thoughts were drawn to his sister, when he said...

“Make it quick Chantel.  If I leave now--I’ll be back in no time.”

“Where are you going in such a hurry?  Clive said that you’d gone down to the cellar, looking for a bottle of champagne.”

When he’d slipped away from the party, Lucien had thought his absence had gone unnoticed--but after running into Marisela, then hearing about his brother-in-law; he wondered who had been keeping tabs on him.

Lucien said...

“I was looking for grand-poppa's special vintage.  I didn’t see it in the cellar but I know where there is at least three bottles.”

“Where?”

“At my place.”

Chantel huffed, giving him her version of a pout.

“Lucien--what about the Ball.  You can’t leave--not yet.”

“I’m not leaving the city.  I’m just going across town.  I’ll be back so fast, no one will ever know that I’d left.”

“I’ll know...and what am I to tell momma and poppa?”

“Tell them that I’ll be back.”

“And Marisela...?”

He frowned...

“What about Marisela--she’s your guest--your friend, your problem and not mine.”

“Lucien, don’t pretend that you don’t know that she’s interested in you.  She’s worried about her brother and if something awful has happened to him, she’ll need to be consoled--and who better than you.”

“Chantel stop jumping to conclusions.  When it comes to Marisela’s brother--just say as little as possible, especially if the information isn’t substantiated.  Besides--I am not interested in her--and I think she knows this.”

“Lucien--she likes you--a lot.”

“Your friend is interested in me even though she knows that I am not interested in her.  What kind of relationship would that be?”

“Those are the best kinds of relationships.  It’s absolutely wonderful when the other person wants you more than you want them.”

Lucien laughed.  She was one to talk because he knew that Clive had practically begged his sister to marry him; but he also knew that his sister had been madly in love with Clive--and that’s what he wanted.  Lucien wouldn’t sacrifice romance, to be with a woman who loved him and the sentiment only went one way.  When he married, he would marry for love and for life--not because some woman had a oneway crush on him.

When he was a few feet from the front door, he pulled his sister to his side.  In this part of the house the crowd of people was the thickest, and he wanted to be heard over their noisy voices.

“I’ll be back in less than an hour.  If you can--pull poppa aside, and ask if he can request a favor from the police department.”

Chantel frowned, appearing confused.  Lucien said...

“Chantel--Horatio Bloom is the head of missing persons.  If Tollin doesn’t show up, he might be able to help.  Talk to poppa--get him to ask Horatio to wave the forty-eight hour wait as a favor to him.”

He smiled, then he said...

“For all we know, Tollin is probably playing the hermit, held up in his penthouse.  Maybe he decided that there wasn’t anything worth celebrating today.  Hell, can you blame him.  He’s dealing with the memory of killing that little girl, and losing Eliza.  With that kind of weight on a person’s shoulder, who could blame them if they chose to shy away from the world.”

Chantel nodded, then Lucien skirted around the guest, until he finally reached the front door--stepping out into the mad rush of street party’s.  Lucien’s heart plummeted, faster than a brick thrown from the roof.  The traffic on his block was at a standstill.  There’d be no traveling on the ground for him.  He pulled out his mobile phone, then pressed a button to phone his pilot.  After one ring, the phone was answered.

“Hey boss.  Happy holiday.”

“Same to you Caesar--look--normally, I wouldn’t bother you on a holiday--but, from where I’m standing--the ground traffic is unbelievably thick.”

Lucien could hear Caesar’s grin in his voice....

“No bother boss--what can I do for you?”

“First off man--are you sober?”

“As sober as I’m going to get on a day like today.”

Lucien nodded, fully understanding his meaning.  If he waited another hour, his pilot will have drank more, thereby being less sober than his present state.  In this situation, Lucien would have to take what he could get.

“All right then--meet me on the roof of the brownstone in twenty minutes.  I’ll wait for you there at the helipad--and if you don’t think that you’re sober enough to fly, find me a pilot who’s clearheaded and won’t fly into the side of a building.”

Caesar laughed then said...

“I guess, that about describes me boss.  See you in ten.” 

***********

Chapter 4

12:29 PM

Samaritan Conclave

The beginning of the Samaritan Philanthropic Year

Peace be to all

Ona leaned against the wall, balancing her pad while trying to sip her coffee.  She pressed the cup on her lip--blowing across the surface to cool it.  She stared at the screen, adjusting her proposal and adding other notes.  She’d arrived shortly after ten o’clock like most of her Sect, prepared to request financial backing for this years charity project.
She’d taken up her normal spot in the rotunda, watching the morning news.  Ev
ery year, people belonging to the Samaritan Sect began their philanthropic year submitting charity proposals to their local Conclave.  The Sect’s council members reviewed these projects, and after evaluating each submission, the council would decide which plans would receive Conclave financial backing.  It is an honor an a privilege to have your proposal selected by the Conclave and members in Ona’s family had never been turned down.  In the past, she’d worked alongside her parents, assisting them while they carried out their projects.  Now that she was of age, and she could submit her own proposal, Ona questioned the possibility that her idea might be more than she could handle on her own.  All year, she’d waited for this day, and she’d known exactly what she would propose to the council.  In spite of her certainty, Ona was beginning to have doubts.  What would she do if the council refused her?  Where would she get the funding to carry out this enormous undertaking?

Ona’s musing was cut short when she was joined by her brother.

“What time are you scheduled to appear before the council?”

Noah raised his brow in question.  Ona shrugged.

“Haven’t heard.  The last announcement stated that the council is reviewing the proposals, and to check the screen to see if you’ll be one of the lucky ones.”

That wasn’t exactly what the announcement had said--but Noah understood.  Upon arriving at the Samaritan Conclave, all proposals are submitted on the central computer--then the participants stand and wait, hoping to see their name flashing on the overhead screen.  Noah had gone in with the first set of people because their projects were not directly affected by the news reports.  He worked with a group of Samaritan’s repairing infrastructures.  Last year, a flash flood had wiped out a bridge in a remote mountain area--and since then, its inhabitants had been cut off from civilization.  That’s where Noah and his group of Samaritans were heading.