Been In Love Before: A Novel (19 page)

Chapter Forty-Four

The phone rang on the bedside table; it was after nine on Friday morning as Mickey rolled over in bed.
I could get used to this life of the unemployed,
he thought.
Friday morning and not a care in the world.
The phone rang again.
Better answer it,
he thought. “Hello?” he said, still half-asleep.

“Where the hell are you?” It was Angus. He was perturbed.

“In bed.” Then he thought for a minute.
Why is he calling me?
“Where the hell are you?”

“In your office, that’s where. It’s nine o’clock, and if you don’t get your ass in gear, you’ll be late for your ten o’clock meeting.”

“What ten o’clock meeting?”

“Your meeting with Fabian Rumpe. That meeting.”

Ten o’clock meeting? What?

He was about to hang up and said, “Hey, wait a minute, I don’t work for you anymore. I quit, remember?”

“You can quit a job, Michael . . . but this is family. You’re always going to be family. You never can quit that. Now get dressed and get a move on. We have a lot to discuss. Hurry . . . please.”

Angus Campbell was there waiting for him and took him into the conference room. He was all business. Bashir, as was his way, stood in the corner watching and waiting. He nodded and bowed at the waist, happy to see Mickey again, removed from his self-imposed exile. “Good morning, sir,” he said to Mickey. “Good to see you again. Tea?”

Mickey nodded. “Yes, please.” He was happy to see his longtime friend and companion.

Angus spoke first. “I went through all of your notes, and detailed analysis. You were right on the money. But I do have a couple questions for you.” They sat, talked, and reviewed the notes repeatedly until the older man finally said, “Now I think it’s time to see what Mr. Rumpe is made of. Are you ready? It’s your meeting, and this deal is your call.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s go, then.” They walked down the hallway, two generations of Campbells, shoulder to shoulder. Angus, the tall, stocky, aging Scotsman with the thick white beard and equally thick mustache, wearing a Campbell tartan plaid tie, and Mickey, the thin younger man in his Italian-cut suit and brightly shined English oxford shoes, walked to meet Fabian Rumpe. They were ready to do battle or do business with the brash New Yorker. They knew he had talked to some of their banks and the unions and had tried to turn them against the firm and, more important . . . against the family.

They turned the corner and saw through the glass walls that Fabian Rumpe was sitting in the main conference room. He seemed surprised to see both of them.

“Angus, I didn’t know you would be here,” he said with a swallow. “How good it is to see you again, sir. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Fabian, but I’m only here as an observer. I’m in town for my son’s wedding, and he asked me if I would care to join you. You see, although it has not been announced officially, I will be retiring soon, and my son, Michael, will be taking over as president of the company once we move our headquarters to Florida. I am here strictly as an observer. But please don’t let me hold up your meeting.”

Mickey tried to hide his amazement. One surprise after another.
Retiring? Me as president? Moving the corporate headquarters?
This was all news to him.
Focus, Michael, focus.
His father always moved quickly and was constantly full of surprises.

Mickey took control of the meeting as his father sat off to the side on the sofa. Bashir brought him his tea and moved to wait in the corner.

“Fabian, after our last meeting,” Mickey started, “I looked over the financial numbers for our project and the plans we have made for the future. We are seeing tremendous growth in population and businesses here in South Florida, and that is why we will be moving our corporate headquarters to this building. I presume you are seeing the same growth prospects that we do and are excited by the possibilities.”

Once again, even the unflappable Rumpe seemed surprised. “I see an opportunity here to expand the Rumpe brand to the backwaters of Florida,” he bellowed. “I have long believed that in South Florida there is a tremendous . . .”

“Cut it, Fabian. There are no cameras or reporters here today. We’re all businesspeople here. So let’s get down to it. It’s a good marriage between our companies to work together as equal partners. I say we both share in the risk, the glory, and the profits . . . or the losses. If you want in on this deal, it’s a fifty-fifty deal or nothing else. Your end will cost you a little over three hundred million dollars. The lawyers can hammer out the details. All I want today is a simple yes or no. What will it be?”

Rumpe turned frantically to Angus on the sofa, sipping his tea. The old Scotsman smiled, held up his teacup, and said, “Great tea, isn’t it?”

The New Yorker was cornered. He knew it was a great deal that Mickey had crafted, and he finally put his hands in the air and said, “I give up. It’s a good deal. Count me in. Let’s do it.”

They shook hands on it. “Oh, and Fabian, we will make a joint announcement . . . together . . . here . . . to the press . . . once the lawyers are done with the legal paperwork. Agreed?”

“Agreed. Good to do business with you, Michael. I think this will be the start of a long and fruitful relationship.” He nodded to Angus and said, “Good to see you again, sir.” He saw Bashir in the corner and gently nodded in his direction before leaving and returning to his helicopter for his trip back to the airport.

Angus stood and shook his son’s hand. “Well done, Michael. Now let’s go have an early lunch with your mother.” He grabbed his briefcase and added, “I know it’s short notice, but . . . perhaps your future bride, Mary Katherine, would care to join us?”

“I think she would like that, Father, I think she would like that very much.” He glanced at the old man and knew he was trying to make an effort to change; he smiled and patted his father on the shoulder. “Shall we go? Don’t want to keep Mother waiting.”

Chapter Forty-Five

Mary Kate reread the note she had given to her boss and saw his response written at the bottom in his distinctive and elegant handwriting:

MK—

Have Ms. Terrell call me and I’ll see what I can do about helping her find a job.

No promises, but I’ll make some phone calls.

Sonny

She smiled; she knew she could count on him. Calley had to have a job.
What good would it do to get her out of her situation at home and not be able to support herself?
She knew that one way or another she could rely on Max to get her out, but she was getting worried. It had been days since she had last met with him, and she had heard nothing.
Should I call him? No, that is probably not a good idea. Wait one more day.

Her phone rang. It was Mickey. “Hiya. What are you up to, Mr. Thompson?” she asked giddily.

“Not much, Mrs. Thompson,” he said with a chuckle. “I just met with Fabian Rumpe, and we’re doing a business deal together, on my terms.”

“You’re going to work for Rumpe?”

“No. I’m back with the company.”

“Ahhh . . . really? What does your father think about all of this?”

“He was the one who set up the meeting with Rumpe and sat in on it, but only as an observer. I got my job back and a promotion. I have so much to tell you, I don’t know where to start, but first . . . do you want to do lunch? With my parents?”

“Your parents? They’re here?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Now or as soon as you can get away. Casual attire.”

She had so much to do to prepare, and so many details left to handle, but she so wanted to meet his parents before the rehearsal dinner that night. “Okay, sure. I took off work today to handle the last-minute details of the wedding with Gloria, but we’re just about done here. Where do you want to meet?”

“They’re staying at the Breakers. Angus is on his way back to the hotel, so he suggested having lunch there, say in ninety minutes?”

She glanced at her watch; that time was tight but workable. “All right, see you there.”
What do you wear to meet your wealthy future in-laws at the most exclusive resort in Palm Beach? Maybe I should just put on a bathing suit and tell them we should have lunch by the pool near the ocean. Ugh. Casual chic? What an oxymoron.

“Gloria, help!” she shouted.

Chapter Forty-Six

“What a wonderful restaurant, Dr. Ryan,” Alexi said jokingly.

“I’m glad you like it. Great food and great atmosphere, and you can watch the boats go up and down the Intracoastal and see them open the drawbridge every hour.”

A waiter approached them. “Welcome to Prime Catch. I’m Jeff, and I’ll be waiting on you today. Our lunch special today is blackened grouper or bronzed swordfish served with our signature Maytag salad.”

“Maytag salad?”

“Yes, sir . . . it used to be called the Stilton salad.”

They both looked through the menu, and finally Alexi closed hers and proclaimed, “I know what I’m having—grouper and the Stilton salad. Sounds wonderful.”

“Me too. But in the meantime I want to show you something.” Ryan reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out some papers. He held them up in the air and proclaimed, “Passport—check. Airline ticket—check. Hotel reservations—check. Car rental—check. That’s so we can go out and see the French countryside if we ever get tired of Paris. Who said the phrase, ‘He who tires of Paris, tires of life’? Voltaire?”

“I don’t know.”

“Alexi, come on now.”

“Well, I believe the phrase was ‘He who tires of London, tires of life,’ by Samuel Johnson. But they were both right.” They laughed.

“So you have everything you need for our adventure?”

“Yes, and I’m really looking forward to it and spending quiet time, alone with you—in Paris, no less. What could be better?” As if on cue, his cell phone rang. He ignored it.

“Perhaps you better answer it? It could be important,” she said.

“No, I am off work starting today, and the family can get by without me for an hour. What are they going to do when I’m thousands of miles away in France?” The ringing stopped. Then it began again.

“I think you should answer it, please.”

“All right,” he said as he reached for his phone. From the caller ID he could tell it was Robert. “Hey, what’s up, bro? I’m at lunch. Can I call you back later . . . ?” He listened intently. The color drained from his face. “I’ll be right there.”

He turned to look at her. “I’m sorry. I must leave. It’s Patti—she was rushed to the hospital.”

“Go, call me later,” she told him.

“I’m sorry, Alexi,” he said as he kissed her cheek. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Go. We’ll have plenty of time for lunches, in Paris.”

She saw it in his eyes; it was subtle, but something had changed. She watched him walk away, and a strange chill engulfed her.
What do I do? I’m falling in love with him.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Mary Kate made it to the famed resort in record time, and as she pulled up to the security guard at the drive-up entrance, he approached her with a smile. “Good morning, ma’am, welcome to the Breakers. May I help you?” Mickey always told her, “If you look like you belong, you can gain entrance anywhere.”

“Yes, you may. I’m meeting my fiancé for lunch with his parents. They are guests here; their last name is Campbell.”

He looked up and down his clipboard. “Ah yes, you must be Ms. Macgregor. They are expecting you in the Seafood Bar overlooking the ocean. Just drive straight ahead and stop under the portico, and the valet will take care of your car for you and direct you to the restaurant.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, ma’am. Have a nice day,” said the young security guard with a smile.

The Breakers was located on the “island” of Palm Beach, one of the most exclusive and expensive locales in the country. The Breakers Hotel Complex, destroyed by fire in 1925, was rebuilt by Henry Flagler in 1926 as a place for wealthy Northerners to get away to a luxurious home away from home and escape the horrible winters up north. They liked what they saw and stayed, building huge, expensive estates.

The “island” of Palm Beach was divided between millionaires, with their luxurious mansions on the Intracoastal Waterway, and the billionaires who built their extravagant estates as second homes facing the ocean.

Mary Kate noticed the main entranceway was lined with pots of richly colored flowers hanging over the sides, and as she drove up the brick driveway, she saw the two large cupolas on the top of the grand hotel with flags flying high above. She noticed children playing croquet on the lawn off to her right, while their parents sat in the coolness of the shade on the patio in oversize wicker chairs, enjoying their mint juleps.

The beige-and-off-white ten-story building stood at attention to welcome her as she drove her car underneath the covered portico. Beautiful multicolored flowers were everywhere. Graceful ivy draped the walls below.

As her sports car rolled to a stop and before she could even reach for the door handle, one of the very attentive valets opened it and reached out to help her from the car.

“Welcome to the Breakers, ma’am. Will you be staying with us?”

“No. I’m joining some friends for lunch.”

“Very fine, madam. Which restaurant would that be?” asked the young-looking attendant. “We have eight. Or I would be happy to check with the concierge if you like.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. It’s the Seafood Bar. I’ve been here many times before, and I know my way, thank you.”

He handed her a parking stub and said with a smile, “Have a nice meal, and enjoy the view.”

“Thank you,” she said, discreetly handing him a tip for his service.

The young attendants watched her stroll by, and one held the entrance door open for her as she passed. She was wearing dark sunglasses, white linen slacks, a sheer silk blouse, a gold-and-pearl necklace, and her latest designer handbag. She and her parents had been there many times in the past when her mom was still alive, and she felt as if she belonged there.

She loved this place, she thought as she walked inside, making a right, past the sofas in the grand lobby filled with hundred-year-old tapestries hanging from the wall, and with solid wood floors. The smell was one she never tired of; it gave you a warm, comfortable feeling; it had the subtle suggestion of old money. It was a nice place to visit, but she liked where she was living—Delray Beach was home to her.

Mary Kate looked briefly at the shops as she passed by. They sported designer jewelry and clothes, along with beach and sundry items. She turned left and saw the champagne bar in the enclosed outdoor plaza, with sounds of soft Latin jazz music coming from a nearby guitar player.

She stopped by a mirror to check her makeup and, after seeing the reminder sign posted in the lobby, turned off her cell phone. She took in a deep breath; she was as ready as she would ever be, ready to face the lions. Her hands shook slightly, but as soon as she entered the room and saw Mickey, her fears faded. He had that way about him.

He kissed her on the cheek and turned to introduce her with a huge smile as he continued to hold her hand. “Mom and Dad, I’d like you to meet Mary Kate Macgregor.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, I am so happy to meet you at last, and I am so glad that you were able to make it here for the wedding.”

His mother beamed with delight, came to her side, and said, “Oh, please, child, nobody calls me Mrs. Campbell. Please call me Claret.” She shook Mary Kate’s hand and then hugged her. “And maybe at some point, you’ll feel kind enough about me to call me Mom.”

She turned to her son. “Mickey, dear boy, you never told me what a sweetheart you have here.”

Angus stood by awkwardly until Claret, with her arm around Mary Kate’s shoulders, turned her to face him while whispering loudly for all to hear, “And this old grump here, who looks like he eats nails for breakfast, is my loving husband, Angus. Don’t let him scare you.”

He shoved his hand forward. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Macgregor.”

Claret’s piercing evil eye and arched eyebrow penetrated his heart, and he got the message. He stumbled awkwardly toward her, then dropped his hand and went to hug her. “Welcome to the family.” He was a big man and nearly smothered her as he hugged her.

“Nice to meet you too, sir.”

“Sit, sit,” he said. “I ordered champagne to celebrate. Dom Pérignon.” She looked at him and then at her; they were going to get along just fine. After the celebratory toast, they ordered lunch.

Claret reached out to clutch her hand and smiled. “Now tell me all about yourself. My dutiful son has neglected to tell me anything at all about his future wife. So tell me everything.”

She liked Claret, a lot. As they talked, Mickey and his father discussed business. Then she heard them both laugh and knew everything would be fine. She felt very comfortable with Claret and was warming to Angus. He had a hearty laugh.

As the waiter brought coffee, Claret said, “Now I understand that tonight we have the rehearsal at the church, then a dinner with the rest of the family?”

“Yes, the church is down the block from here. It’s called the Chapel-by-the-Sea, and the dinner is at Testa’s on Royal Poinciana Way,” said Mary Kate. “It was one of my mom’s favorites.” She paused for a minute. “And tomorrow is the wedding, with the reception back here at the hotel at the Breakers.”

“I hope there’s a good band; I love to dance.”

“Yes, ma’am. So do I. It’s a very good band. You’ll have a great time, I promise you.”

Claret leaned in and whispered, “And your wedding dress? Tell me about it.” Mary Kate smiled; she saw that she was just a little girl at heart.

“It’s white with rows of beads and pearls down the side. It’s beautiful. The rear bodice is laced with white ribbon. I can’t dress myself, so Patti, my cousin, is coming over to my dad’s house tomorrow before the wedding to help me dress. The front is filled with French lace.”

Claret whispered, “The front . . . is it . . . cut . . .”

“Cut low? Heavens no, Miss Claret. It’s very conservative. Would you like to see some pictures? I had some taken on my cell phone during one of the fittings.”

Her face beamed with a smile. “I would love to see them.”

Mary Kate reached over and pulled out her bag and found the pictures on her phone. Mickey looked up from his conversation with his father. “What are you two girls talking about over there?”

Claret hid the phone from him so he could not see the pictures of Mary Kate in her wedding gown. “Just you never mind,” she scolded him. “You just keep having your silly conversations with your father. It’s bad luck for the groom to see his bride in her wedding dress before they’re married. You just go on now,” and she shushed him away with the back of her hand. “Go on.”

Claret smiled at Mary Kate as if the two of them had their own little secret. They were both having a good time talking together; Mary Kate was what she had always wanted, someone dear and close to talk to.

Mary Kate excused herself to find the ladies’ room, and when she was returning to her table she heard a familiar voice on a newscast coming from the bar adjacent to the restaurant.

It was Max being interviewed by a TV news reporter. She stopped to listen to him.

“We were making our rounds and drove through a parking lot and saw some suspicious activity inside a local liquor store. Then we received a silent alarm and noticed it was a male perpetrator robbing the store at gunpoint.” She moved in closer to be able to hear everything he said.

“We parked our patrol car, and when he exited the store, we ordered him to drop his weapon. He refused, and then pointed his gun at my partner, firing at him twice. I then discharged my service revolver, striking him with one fatal bullet. He was pronounced dead at the scene. We just happened to be in the neighborhood and were glad we were able to assist before anyone else got hurt.”

Max’s picture faded from view, and the announcer said, “That was police detective Max Haines of the Delray Beach Police Department responding to a serious situation. The dead suspect was later identified as Phillip Terrell of Delray Shores. In a related story, earlier today police were called to Mr. Terrell’s residence and were attacked by a pit bull at his home. The animal was killed by the responding police officer. Now back to your local news after a word from our sponsors.”

She stood watching, engrossed by what she saw. She didn’t know whether to be happy or sad, but now she knew that Calley was no longer in danger.

After she returned to the table and they said their good-byes, Claret tucked her arm inside Mary Kate’s as they walked with her to retrieve her car. Claret kissed her on the cheek and said, “This was wonderful. Thanks for coming on such short notice. I guess I’ll see you in a little while at the rehearsal.” Then, leaning in closer, she said, “I think we’re going to be really good friends. Good-bye, Mary Katherine. See you soon.”

“Good-bye, Claret. I had a wonderful lunch, and it was so good to meet you.”

As she drove away, she stopped at a stoplight and retrieved her phone from her purse to check her messages. She was surprised to see six missed calls and three texts: one from her father, one from Robert, and one from Bobby. She read her father’s text first. Her hands began to shake and tremble as she read it:

Graw—

URGENT—

Patti was rushed to Saint John’s hospital with a high fever.

Not good. Hurry. See you there.

Pray.

Dad

Mary Kate sat there staring in disbelief at her phone until a waiting car behind her honked its horn and brought her back to her reality. She sped away, heading to Saint John’s Hospital as fast as she could drive.
God, I hope she’s all right. Please God, please keep her well. Please.

The reception desk at the hospital gave her the floor number, and she took the elevator to the fifth floor. The family was all there, waiting. Robert, Dad, Bobby, and the others, all desperately waiting for news.

She saw them first, pacing in the waiting room. “What happened?” she asked her father frantically. “Is she okay? What about the baby? Oh my God . . . what about the baby?”

He took her in his arms and said, “We don’t know yet. We’re waiting for the doctor to come out and tell us what’s going on.”

Bobby stood next to them. “She was really lethargic as she got out of bed this morning. Then when we were having breakfast she said she was feeling tired and went back to sleep. I did the dishes and took a shower. When I came in to kiss her good-bye before I left for work, she was hotter than a coal fire. I couldn’t wake her, and then she moaned about something, half-asleep. I brought her here since it’s the nearest hospital to our house. A doctor examined her, and her obstetrician was consulted; now we’re just waiting.”

They turned around as a white-coated doctor entered the waiting room. “Mr. Macgregor?” he said, searching the room for a response.

“Yes, Doctor,” said Bobby.

“I’m Dr. Sanders. Your wife is safe for the present, but we were unable to bring her temperature down, and in her current condition, it’s not a good thing. The longer her fever remains high, the worse it is for her and the baby. She’s comfortable now. We’re running more tests and will let you know more as soon as we get the results. But please wait here and be patient.”

“Is she awake, Doctor?”

“She is in and out of consciousness. I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

The doctor looked at all their faces and responded, “Pray. It may be a long night.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Hang in there,” he said as he returned to his duties.

They huddled in a corner . . . and waited. Half an hour later, Mary Kate’s phone rang. It was Mickey.

“Hey, girl. Great lunch. My parents loved you.” He was almost bubbly in his conversation, which was unlike him. “Let’s get together after the rehearsal dinner, and I’ll fill you in on all the changes at work, but you did real good. I am so proud of—”

“Mickey,” she interrupted and said, “I’m at Saint John’s Hospital with the whole family. Patti has a very high fever, and it doesn’t look good. I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

Forty-five minutes later she saw him walk into the room, followed by his parents.

Mickey was the first to speak. “You said the whole family was here. Once I told them what had happened, they insisted on coming.”

His father greeted Mary Kate and said, “Well, girl, you’re now family, we’re all family here, and we stick together. We came here to support you, come hell or high water.”

Robert and the rest of the family approached Angus. “I’m Angus Campbell, Michael’s father, and this is my wife, Claret.”

Robert stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Robert James Macgregor. We welcome you to join us. Thanks for coming. It means a lot.” The two men locked hands, and each understood, family came first.

They all sat and waited. The minutes turned to hours, and still no word.