Ballet Shoes and Engine Grease (26 page)

As they trooped in,
the subdued security guard trapped between
Ray and Hank, Crimson accepted the night had revealed two things
about her. Despite the dust on the concrete floor of the bicycle
shed, and the smoke from the flames, and the fumes from the fire
extinguishers, she had not had an asthma attack. The doctors had
told her stress could be a trigger. She believed it now. But not
the
face-the-villain
,
pull-out-your-gun
type of stress. The kind of stress that came from dancing
on the stage every night and fearing that she might not be good
enough. It was the pressure of dancing, of performing, that had
made her sick.

The second thing
she’d learned was even more
frightening.

S
he had the capacity to be ruthless.

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Chapter Fourteen

“
I want it to be something like this.”
Crimson swept into an
arabesque
, one foot
en pointe
, the
other leg extended behind her, raised up toward the showroom
ceiling. She craned her neck to look at the three directors. “I
want it, cast in silver, on the hood of the new Spurs. Like Rolls
Royce has the Spirit of Ecstasy.”

Jorge clucked his tongue. “No can do.
You’ll breach their trademark.”

Crimson
held the pose. “The lawyer has looked into it. If
we make it an exact replica of me, we’ll be okay. I’m allowed to
put my likeness on the cars we make.”

Hank
circled her. “With you standing on one toe like that, it’s
going to be a weak joint. Easy to snap off. They’ll get
stolen.”

“
So, we’ll make them in chrome instead.
Make the joint a clip-on. We’ll send the owners a replacement they
can just clip on. It could become a cult, people stealing
them.”

They discussed the idea, wrapped up the
rest of the questions on the agenda. It had been a month since they
caught the vandal.
The
security company had reimbursed the fees paid since January. If
everything went well—if they got a real buzz going on at the
auction—perhaps they had a chance to meet the profit target for the
year.

She’d heard nothing from Nick.

Not that she had expected him to chase
after her. Crimson pulled a face as she put on overalls on top of
her leotard. Who was she kidding? Of course she had expected to
hear from him. She’d thought he’d bombard her with emails and phone
calls, begging her to marry him. Not for
her
, of course. For the company. But nothing. Nada.
Not a peep.

However, she suspected the directors were
keeping in touch with him. Running the business just seemed too
easy, problems solved even before she got to hear of them. Every
time someone needed her approval for something, they gave her a
clear, simple explanation, and a recommendation that merely
required her to say yes.

Her phone rang.

“
Hi Crimsy, it’s Mom.”

Crim
sy
. Her heart jolted. The name had been Nick’s idea. No one
else had called her that…which meant that her mother must have seen
Nick, and they must have talked about her…

“
Crimson?” her mother said. “Are you
there?”

“
Hi, Esmie,” Crimson replied. “I’m
here.”

“
I wish you’d call me Mom.”

“
Hi, Mom.”

Esmeralda laughed.
“Are you free? Myrtie and I have a
surprise for you.”

“
Now?” Crimson
glanced at her watch. Five o’clock, almost the end
of the day.

“
If you can spare time for me in your busy
schedule,” her mother said in the plaintive tone mothers use to
remind their children of the importance of the parental
bond.

“
Fine,” Crimson said, and made arrangements
for Esmeralda and Myrna to pick her up at the office. She had
failed her driving test for the second time, a source of
embarrassment for her and a cause of amusement around the factory
floor.

The pair insisted on blindfolding her.
Crimson tried to figure out the route as Myrna drove, the three of
them abreast on the wide bench seat of her pickup truck. About two
miles, Crimson reckoned. Traffic lights. Town noises. They were in
Longwood, probably on Main Street, or just beyond it.

They came to a halt. H
er mother helped her down. She could smell
cinnamon. They were near the bakery. A gust of cold October wind
made her overalls flap. Cobblestones beneath her feet. That
narrowed it to the small square at the end of Main. The two mothers
prodded her along, one holding on to each arm.

“
Stand still. Don’t move,” her mother said
in a stern voice, as if speaking to a child prone to hurtling
blindfolded into the stream of traffic.

The cloth covering her eyes fell away. She
was in front of a store.
Myralda Interiors
. In the window stood a dolls’ house, surrounded
with huge, blown up photographs of stately homes, interiors and
exteriors.

Myrna
beamed at her. “We’ve gone into business. Antiques and
interior design. We use the dolls’ houses as sample homes. We
already have three commissions. We use gossip magazines to find out
who is moving house or ditching their partner for a different one.
New wives always like to redecorate.”

Her mother unlocked the entrance
and
waved her inside.
“There’s an apartment above the shop. I can live there when we have
to move out of Longwood Hall in the New Year…”

Crimson followed, only half listening to
the prattle
, even as
pride swelled inside her at her mother’s courage and
enterprise
.
When we have to move out of Longwood Hall.
She felt her skin prickle and turned
around.

Myrna
was studying her. “You
do
know that Longwood Hall belongs to the company?” the
elegant woman said. “You’ll have to move out at the end of the
year. Either the house will be sold, or Nick as the majority
shareholder will have the right to live there.”

“
I know,” Crimson said. Then, blinking away
the sudden, unexpected rush of tears, she went into the shop and
made all the right noises. At least someone had a plan for the
future. She could not bring herself to think beyond the New
Year.

****

It had taken Nick a week to track down his
mother. What was the world coming to when a mother who
had never worked a day in her
life was too busy to keep tabs on her only offspring? Not that he
was complaining. It just seemed strange not to have to wage a
constant war to protect his privacy.

He knocked on the door of her
apartment
. She released
the locks and let him in. He kissed her cheek, gave her a
compliment on her appearance, did the small talk.

Then
he got to the point. “How much money can you lend
me?”

“
Nicholas?” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you
broke?”

Nicholas.
Uh-oh
. Not a good sign.

“
I’m trying to raise funds to buy
Constantine Motors. Whatever the lawyer says, David Ballard is not
interested in acquiring the company. It was just one of Dad’s
tricks to rope me in.”

“
Oh Nicky.” His mother sighed, raised one
hand to fiddle with her chignon. “I’ve been thinking about the
past, about what happened between you and your father. I feel it’s
my fault. I was so bitter.” Her darting gaze stilled, met his. “I
hated the idea of his new family. I couldn’t stand the idea that
your father loved someone else more than he’d ever loved me. I…I
should have encouraged you to make up with him, but I suspect I did
the opposite. In some small ways, I think plotted to keep your feud
alive. Tried to keep you for myself. Tried to spite your father
through you.” She blinked. A tear fell to trail down the still
smooth, unwrinkled cheek. Another joined it, and the tears grew
into a flood.

Nick watched in growing
alarm
. The immaculate,
ice-shrouded Myrna Constantine was breaking apart with emotion. “I
worry that I’ve not been a good mother.” She gave a muffled sob.
“I’m not…demonstrative. That’s what your father said. That I was
not a warm, loving person. And now I’m terrified that you don’t
know how to love, because I failed to teach you. That I didn’t show
you enough love.”

“
You showed me plenty of love.” His voice
was gentle. “I remember you standing in the cold and the rain on
the side of a race track. Putting up with the mechanics hitting on
you, the exhaust fumes making you sick, the long journeys tiring
you out. I never imagined you had any interest in motor racing. I
always knew you did it for me.”

“
I tried, Nicky. I tried.” She dashed away
the tears.

“
And you were a great mother.” He bent his
knees a little to bring their faces level. “And you know what, Mom?
I think you’ve changed recently, for the better. You seem much more
relaxed. I never expected to see you wearing jeans, or your hair in
a ponytail, and making friends with someone like Esmeralda
Mills…”

“
I…it’s crazy, but since your father died…”
His mother sniffled, dug a pristine handkerchief from her pocket
and patted at her nose. “It feels like for so many years I had to
put up a front. Look cool and indestructible, so people couldn’t
see how much your father hurt me. And now that he is dead, I don’t
have to do it anymore. I can relax and let go and have some fun.
That’s what’s happened to me.”

“That’s great, Mom. It really is.”

“
Oh, Nicky.” She gave him a tremulous
smile. “I’m so glad we had this talk.” Looking nervous, she twisted
the handkerchief in her fingers, glanced down, then up again to
meet his eyes. “Nicky….don’t let love slip by you…”

For the first time in his adult life, Nick
bundled his mother into his arms and held her
close to him, rocking her in his
arms.
Don’t
let Crimson slip by you
,
she was telling him, without actually saying something that could
be considered as meddling. He wanted to reassure her that he had no
intention of doing that, but he chose to remain silent.

A
surprise attack had a better chance to succeed.

****

Today was the day. Crimson hurried
around
the showroom,
checking details. Phone extensions to take telephone bids. Computer
screens with webcams. Luck had favored them, and the weather was
excellent for late November—clear and sunny, with low humidity.
They had cordoned off a section of the parking lot and wheeled the
vintage race cars outside, freeing up space in the showroom for the
ten new Spurs to be auctioned at three p.m.

A
lready, at midday, people had started to arrive. Some
bustled around the cars. Some wrapped up in warm coats and scarves
and went strolling around the landscaped grounds. Some bagged a
corner of office space and set up their laptop, taking care of
business. Some wore jeans, some business suits. Some were alone.
Some with girlfriends or wives. Even a few kids tore around the
building, giving Ray and Charlie a safety headache.

Crimson darted into the
cafeteria to sample the chilled champagne.
Just right, with a light, fruity flavor. She clipped her fingernail
against the glass, heard it ping, the sound of crystal. Her mother
hurried over and pushed a tray of canapés at her. Crimson picked
one with glazed shrimp topping to taste.

“
Excellent.” She devoured it in two
mouthfuls.

Behind her, the door connecting to the
factory swung open.
Footsteps crossed the floor. Before she had time to turn
around and check who’d come in the back way, a pair of strong hands
settled on her shoulders. She felt a strand of curly hair tickle
her cheek and a gust of warm breath brush her neck as someone bent
to whisper into her ear.

“
Did you miss me?” a deep, familiar voice
murmured.

The glass slipped from her fingers,
shattering on the floor. “Shit.”

Nic
k tightened his grip on her shoulders. “I guess that means
you didn’t.”

Judy bustled forward with a
dustpan.
“I’ll take care
of that.” The staff from Longwood Hall had been recruited to help,
even Soames, who was greeting people as they arrived.

“
What are you doing here?” Crimson
demanded, twisting around. The words came out just right, in a
bored, angry tone. The canapé that had stuck in her throat helped
with that.

Nick let his arms drop
down to his sides. “I came to ask you
something.”

“
Of course you did.” Crimson glared at him.
“The answer is
no
.”

Even as she said it, her heart was
goi
ng like an overheated
engine. He smelled so good, a faint scent of some woodsy cologne,
mixed with the crisp outdoor air he’d brought in with him. His hair
was windblown, and around his mouth she noticed tired lines that
had not been there before. Perhaps he was sleeping as badly as she
was.