False Pretenses (19 page)

The Cantina was decorated in Art Deco, surprisingly enough. Elizabeth loved it. She was safe here.

José immediately rushed forward, assisting her from her raincoat. “So pleased you are here, Mrs. Carleton.”

“This is an out-of-towner, José. Make your Cadillac margaritas extra macho for him.”

“I shall, Mrs. Carleton. This way, please. I have your special table ready for you, of course.”

Of course, Jonathan thought. Hell, he wondered if she owned the place. Her special table was set back from the others, private, away from prying eyes.

Elizabeth ordered a Perrier, and Jonathan felt honor-bound to order the Cadillac margarita. A test of his manhood. He wanted to laugh at himself for being so easily caught in his own conceit.

“A toast, Mrs. Carleton,” he said once the drinks were placed in front of them. He saw her hesitate, and added, “Come, to your victory. To devastate and otherwise wipe out the asshole from Philadelphia.”

“I suppose that's close enough,” she said, and lightly clinked her glass against his.

His first taste of the margarita was enough to tell him that it should be his only drink for the entire day. It packed a powerful wallop. If only she would go to the women's room, he could dump it in the plant behind him. Rose always excused herself when they arrived at a restaurant, to repair herself, she said. When Elizabeth Carleton made no move to do anything, he said, his voice light, “You worked very quickly, Mrs. Carleton.”

“Yes, I did. You made me very angry, Mr. Harley. I decided only yesterday that I wouldn't ruin you.”

“So I'm a lucky man, huh?”

“I should say you could begin to count your blessings. That had, of course, been my initial plan.”

“To ruin me?”

“To destroy you, actually. But I realized that you have done well with your company. You've worked very diligently to bring it to the fore of the computer industry. One must admire that sort of commitment and accomplishment. I would only destroy you now if I had no other option.”

“Then I must be certain that you've plenty of options.”

“And you must be certain that you control your mouth. I won't take any more abuse from you, or anyone else for that matter. You see, I no longer have to subject myself to that kind of thing.”

“I think I'll be able to manage my mouth as well as my other parts,” he said, and took another very small drink of the margarita.

Sexual banter? she wondered, frowning just a bit. Well, if it was, it was her own fault for coming out to lunch with him. It was probably a very stupid move, but he'd taken her aback. And he was right, she did want to gloat, just a bit. Well, perhaps more than a bit.

“I wonder just what it would take to make you go back to hurling insults at me?”

“Is that your style?”

“Lawyer tactics, Mr. Harley? Answering a question with another question?”

“Something you don't know, Mrs. Carleton? My law degree is from Harvard.”

“You don't have a law degree, Mr. Harley.”

He grinned at her. “I suppose you even know where my birthmark is?”

Elizabeth didn't like this at all. He was good, very good. “No,” she said coolly, “but I do know all about your marriage and divorce.”

“Ah, so you're diving below the belt now.”

“A very nasty business. I would guess that if your father-in-law, or rather your ex-father-in-law, had some control at the First People's Bank, you would have been tossed out on your ear.”

“Actually you're wrong there. Andrew Pillson remains a friend.”

He had to be lying, she thought. Pillson, according to her reports, was ready to skin his ex-son-in-law.

He saw the disbelief on her face, and added, “He
knows his daughter quite well. He also knows when to put the proper face on things.”

“So it was all her fault? Naturally, I should have guessed. The shallow, spoiled woman?”

“You're trying to make me toss my margarita in your face, aren't you?”

“Just testing, Mr. Harley, just testing. You see, I learn from every encounter I have with business
men.
”

Again that flash of humanity that made him vastly uncomfortable. “You're young,” he said abruptly.

“Not terribly. I'm twenty-nine now.”

“I venture to say that there are very few chief executives in Fortune Five Hundred companies who are your age.”

“Unless they inherit.”

“Yes,” he said, “unless it's handed to them free of charge.”

“It wasn't free of charge, Mr. Harley.”

He said before he could stop himself, “Three years isn't much to pay for what you've gotten in return.”

“I was wondering,” she said slowly, perfectly in control, “how long you would be able to control your rage.”

“Do I look enraged? Ah, here's our waiter. What do you suggest, Mrs. Carleton?”

Surprisingly, Jonathan, not a Mexican-food lover, found the burritos delicious. He said, smiling, that he wished he could order a dozen macho burritos.

“You're feeling that insecure?” she said.

“No, I was thinking rather of displaying them, with signs of course, kind of like a peacock strutting his plumage.”

She wanted to smile, at the very least, and nearly choked on her Perrier.

Now, as she picked at her taco salad, she wondered again why she'd come with him. She certainly hadn't managed to put him in his place very well. He was slippery, a master of his trade.

He said after a moment, “Why do you feel you must have my company, Mrs. Carleton?”

“You weren't my first choice,” she said, “but there were problems. Yes, I suppose you could call them problems brought about by my naiveté. Then I heard about you, or rather my management team brought you to my attention. I like not only that your location is a lot closer than Silicon Valley, but also the solid strength of your operations.”

“If I hadn't insulted you, just refused you, may I ask what you would have done?”

“Bought the loan.”

“And if I hadn't borrowed the money?”

She shrugged. “I would have found another way, I suppose. Power, Mr. Harley, as I'm certain you know quite well firsthand, can be wielded in many different arenas.”

“And I'm just unfortunate enough not to have as much power as you to wield.”

“That's right.”

“So no one in his right mind dares cross you?”

“Are you admitting that you're crazy, Mr. Harley? That you acted like a cretin?”

“Touché,” he said. “May I ask you why you decided not to go back to the concert stage? Or do you still plan to in the future?”

He saw her go very still, her fork poised just above her plate. Ah, a nerve, he thought.

“I'm as yet undecided.” She carefully laid the fork beside her plate. “You're pushing again, Mr. Harley. You're not stupid, I'll give you that. You know very well why I couldn't go back, why I can't go back for a long time.”

Suddenly, without warning, a flash went off, and the whirring noise of a camera.

Jonathan whipped about in his chair, saw a man grinning at him. “What the hell!” he shouted, rising.

“No,” Elizabeth said, reaching out her hand to
touch his arm. “No, don't. There's no need to involve yourself. No need at all.”

He eased back into his chair, frowning at her.

Elizabeth called out, “José.”

He was there in an instant. He leaned closer to her, listening. Then he disappeared very quickly.

“What was that all about?”

“The man will leave with his camera, but unfortunately, he will have a regrettable accident with that particular roll of film.”

Jonathan simply stared at her.

“You see,” Elizabeth said, wanting to laugh at his expression, “José and I have an agreement. He promised me protection, complete protection, from prying eyes, and I, well, I reciprocate, naturally.”

“Will José's goons also break the guy's legs? Or are they your goons?”

“Don't turn soft on me now, Mr. Harley. You're ruining my image of you.”

“Lady, you're tough as nails, aren't you?”

“Careful, Mr. Harley. You're slipping.”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” he said slowly, getting a grip on himself.

“Consider yourself in a poker game, Mr. Harley. Your major problem is that no one will deal you any cards. Well, deuces, perhaps.”

I will get you for that, lady. Oh, yes, you've gone too far, much too far.

“So even a three of hearts will beat me?”

“That's correct. You see, I knew you were somewhat bright.”

“You gloat very well, Mrs. Carleton.”

“I'm learning.”

“I've never heard you play the piano,” he said, and she blinked at him in surprise at his abrupt change of topic.

“You aren't into classical music?”

“Yes, but I've just never bought you. Your late husband bought a recording company for you, didn't he?”

“No, he didn't. However, he did own one, but it's country-and-western, primarily. I believe the company is in Nashville. I haven't had the chance yet to visit with the local management. They're not a very large concern, and of course everything is a matter of priorities.”

“I should imagine that it would take you at least a year to work with and meet the management of all your companies.”

“Yes, at least a year,” she agreed, smiling just a bit at the mixture of condemnation and bitterness in his voice.

“I don't suppose I could get you on antitrust?”

“Nope, not a chance. But I'm certain you've already explored all avenues open to you, haven't you, Mr. Harley?”

“Wouldn't you?”

She nodded. “Of course. You just must realize that I have several people whose primary job it is to do strategic planning. Their experience is awesome. There is nothing—I repeat, nothing—you could devise that they haven't thought of first.”

He looked as if he would disagree vehemently, but then he shrugged, looking mildly bored.

“You must have been just a bit upset to learn that you couldn't just simply acquire my company.”

“Yes, just a bit. It meant confronting you personally. I didn't like that meeting, Mr. Harley.”

“I would say that if you didn't hate me before that memorable meeting, you certainly must now.”

“Close enough. As I told you, I did calm down, but I didn't change my mind.”

Jonathan said nothing to that. The lunch hadn't gone as he'd planned it, but then, he really hadn't had a specific plan. He'd just assumed that with a woman, he had a chance. For someone who was a musician
before she became a business tycoon, she was tough, very tough. He wondered absently if she had murdered Timothy Carleton.

“I was wrong about something,” she said after a moment.

“No.”

“No need for sarcasm. Your secretary. Midge, I believe her name is?”

“That's right,” he said, and she saw that he'd stiffened just a bit.

“I'm looking for very bright women. Do you believe she'd be interested in a more rewarding position? After we complete our business, of course.”

“Her loyalty is to me. However, feel free to ask her.”

“That's what impressed me initially. Her loyalty. Do you know what still floors me?”

He cocked his head at her.

“We're in a brand-new century and women still can't get into top positions, despite their talents.”

What to say to that? It was true, so he just nodded.

“Now, Mr. Harley, shall we go? I assume you have a plane to catch?”

“Isn't there a check to pay?”

“Consider, Mr. Harley, that the barracuda is feeding the goldfish, at least today.”

 

E
lizabeth sat alone in her office an hour later, replaying the luncheon with Jonathan Harley in her mind. In Adrian's words, he did indeed seem a slippery bastard. At one moment she'd believed he was apologizing for his behavior in Philadelphia, but the next, she'd wanted to put her fist in his mouth. He was smart and she knew she must be careful. He was a formidable adversary. She remembered his parting words as he'd helped her into a taxi.

“Why didn't you want that photographer to take that picture? There wasn't anything to it, after all.”

She gave him a cool, mocking smile. “Mr. Harley, surely you don't want to be known as Elizabeth Carleton's latest?”

“Latest what, Mrs. Carleton? Lover or victim?” And he'd given her a mock salute and stepped back.

Very slippery.

But she had him—oh, yes, she had him.

He wouldn't go to the Carletons for a bail-out. Not him. She wondered if he would indeed sign the agreement and send it back to her. He'd better, she thought.

“Oh, I'm sure he will,” Adrian said some minutes later. “I hope you didn't let him get to you again?”

“No. He isn't all that stupid, Adrian.”

“I still don't believe you took him to lunch.”

“You wanna know something, sailor? Neither do I.”

“I assume, then, that you reached a sort of détente?”

“In the loosest sense of the word, actually, not even close to a yes. However, he'll fall into line. He has no choice. If he tries for another loan, even from an out-of-state bank, we'll know it and take appropriate action.”

“You mean you want him followed?”

“Certainly. Starting today, the minute he steps off the plane in Philadelphia. You know something else? I refuse to feel guilty about this. As you've told me and as I'm continually telling myself, this is business, pure and simple business.”

“Yes, it is.” Adrian left her office, made the phone call, and returned. “You ready for the board meeting?”

“Three o'clock already?”

“Does that mean time flew while you were having fun?”

“As strange as it sounds, yes it did.”

Outside in Millicent Stacy's office, Elizabeth saw Adrian gather up the envelopes that contained the exorbitant fees each board member received each month, after every meeting.

She wondered if they would do anything at all if she were in truth destroying ACI. Probably not. They rubber-stamped everything. Of course, with all the Carleton leaks, they weren't told everything. She found herself thinking of Laurette Carleton, and wondering at a hatred so profound that she would try to undermine all her son had built to get back at her, Elizabeth. “And you've got the wrong person, Laurette,” she said quietly.

Elizabeth's eyes fell upon the society page in the paper on Millicent's desk. She stared down at a photo of Rowe and his fiancée, Amanda Montgomery.

She frowned just a bit. But there was no pain now, no anger at his betrayal. In fact, she realized, she no longer wished him ill. Despite all his lies, his web of deception, he'd taught her so much. “Good luck, Rowe,” she whispered, then straightened her shoulders and marched out of Millicent's office, Adrian behind her.

She wondered briefly if Rowe was pleased with this marriage. She rather hoped, in her less beneficient moods, that Amanda was a bitch.

 

Rowe Chalmers realized he liked work. “And that,” he said to himself and to his office, “is a good thing, because the rest of my life isn't going to hold much more.”

Well, perhaps children, but he wasn't certain about that. Amanda had, to this point, successfully skirted the subject.

“You're a lucky bastard,” he continued to himself. “She's good in bed and she's loaded. I won't get any more gray hairs trying to save this sinking ship.”

There was a knock on his door before it opened to admit his secretary, Doris Cummings. She was young, pretty, and efficient enough. She was also discreet. And kind.

“What is it, Doris?”

“There's a lady here to see you, Mr. Chalmers.”

Rowe groaned inwardly. Amanda loved to pay surprise visits. Did she think he was off playing polo or something? Off having illicit sex in the afternoon with one of her friends?

“It's a Miss Catherine Carleton.”

He stared at her, his jaw dropping.

“Hello, Rowe,” Catherine said from behind Doris.

He rose slowly to his feet. “Miss Carleton.” He
nodded to Doris and she left the office, closing the door behind her.

He strode across his office, stopping six inches from Catherine.

“What the hell do you want?”

“Forgive me for disturbing you,” she said, holding her ground. “I came on in because I was afraid you'd refuse to see me.”

“You're damned right I'd refuse.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“That's what you said the last time. As I recall, it wasn't particularly memorable. A waste of time for both of us.”

“I've been seeing Dr. Christian Hunter.”

Rowe stared at her. “Seeing him? As in going to bed with him, you mean?”

“I suppose I deserve that. No, as a patient.”

A patient. What was she up to now? He frowned at her. “What does that have to do with me?”

“You said you weren't certain anymore that Elizabeth hadn't murdered my father. If you're right in doubting her—and I know you are—I want to know why Christian Hunter lied for her. Then I want to nail him.”

He found himself responding to the plea in her voice. “Look, Miss Carleton—Catherine—there's nothing to say. I already told you that.”

“No one else could have done it, don't you see? Only Elizabeth.”

Rowe turned away from her and walked to the long windows behind his desk. He looked over at Copley Square. He heard her move up behind him. “Why don't you leave,” he said.

“I can't. Not until you tell me things.”

“You are very young, Catherine. Drop it. Leave it be. Move to California. The farther away you get from your precious family, the better it would be for you.” He'd turned back to her as he spoke, and was again
shaken at the pleading look on her face. He said abruptly, “Your nose is bleeding.”

He pointed to a small box of Kleenex on his desktop. Catherine dabbed at her nose, saying nothing. He stood watching her. He'd thought of her only as a spoiled brat with a nasty mouth for so long that he had difficulty seeing her as anything else. He hated vulnerability in women, and his experience with Elizabeth, using her as he had, made him uncomfortable with himself.

“Dammit, here.”

He took the Kleenex from her and wiped the blood from her nose and near her upper lip.

“Good morning, darling. What's this?”

Rowe looked up to see Amanda standing in the open doorway, a chagrined Doris behind her.

“Hello, Amanda,” he said. He finished wiping Catherine's nose and dropped the Kleenex into the wastebasket.

Catherine turned around slowly, sniffing, to look at Amanda.

“What brings you here so early?” Rowe asked.

“It's not that early, Rowe. I came to take you shopping, then to lunch. Who is this?”

“She's Catherine Carleton,” he said.

“Elizabeth X's stepdaughter?”

“Yes.”

“How very interesting.”

Catherine looked from one to the other, and felt a surge of pity for Rowe Chalmers. Then she felt a deep recognition and made a small sound. No, she was thinking, I can't be like her. Oh, God, no. But she recognized the tilt of the head, the absolute arrogance, the immediate cold assessment of another who just might be poaching on her preserve.

“Shall we go, Rowe?” Amanda moved aside to let Catherine pass.

“No, I'm quite busy right now, Amanda. You should have called me.”

“Yes, you certainly do look busy, don't you, darling?”

“Miss Carleton is leaving. Now.”

Catherine didn't look at him again. She would come back. She nodded toward Amanda and left the office.

She heard Amanda say just before the office door closed behind her, “Really, Rowe, must you screw teenyboppers right here in your office? Isn't that secretary enough for you? Or were you wondering what the stepdaughter was like after the stepmother?”

Catherine shivered. She didn't hear Rowe's answer. She supposed she should be happy that he was marrying that woman. She'd make his life miserable. She was already well on her way.

Catherine said to Doris, “Will Mr. Chalmers be here this afternoon?”

Doris, whose face was flushed with anger at what she'd heard Amanda say, suddenly smiled at her. “If he goes out with her now, he'll be here late.”

“Do you think he will?”

“Probably.”

Yeah, Catherine thought, he probably will—he needs her money. “I'll be back then,” she said, “but please don't tell him. I want it to be a surprise.”

“You got it.” Doris watched the young woman leave. She must be as rich as Amanda Montgomery, she thought.

Rowe left with Amanda ten minutes later and didn't return to his office until after two in the afternoon. Doris shot him a look of sympathy, but he didn't notice.

 

Midge looked up, her breath held, as Jonathan strode into the office. “Well?”

“Just fine, Midge,” he said. He handed her a folded envelope. “Mail this for me, special delivery.”

“What is it?”

“It's a signed agreement to Elizabeth Carleton that I'll sell to her if I can't repay the loan at the stated time.”

“You didn't.”

He just grinned at her. “Believe me, it doesn't matter. It's called distracting the lions while the Christians escape through the back door. Go ahead and read it, I know you're dying to. And, Midge,” he said over his shoulder, “I do have a tail, thanks to the dragon lady—you know, as in private detective. Wanna know something else? This is fun.” He rubbed his hands together as he disappeared into his office.

He came back out not ten minutes later.

“You still got that agreement?”

“Yeah, but a messenger is on his way to pick it up.”

“Cancel the messenger. I think I'll hold on to it for a couple of days. Then I'll go back to New York and deliver it in person. And, Midge, you got my reservations to Zurich?”

 

It
was
fun, Jonathan thought, grinning into his rear-view mirror at the discreet Chevrolet three cars behind him—never more, never less. He pulled into his driveway, saw the Chevrolet pull over down the road, and smiled again.

 

Binky Vaughan was bored, but then again, he was used to being bored. Harley hadn't left his house for three hours. He straightened a bit when a black sedan pulled into the driveway and a man got out. He watched him enter the house.

The man left an hour later.

Jonathan Harley didn't reappear. Binky's relief appeared at precisely eleven o'clock that night. “ Nothing,” Binky said to Gus, and left. “Hell, the guy's divorced. You'd think he'd at least go out with women or something.”

Binky was back again at seven the following
morning. After a fifteen-minute wait he saw Jonathan Harley emerge from the house and get into his car. He followed him to his office.

 

Jonathan blinked awake when the flight attendant came over the loudspeaker. “Fasten your seat belts, please. We'll be landing in Zurich in approximately fifteen minutes.”

 

Catherine walked through the silent outer office and quietly opened Rowe Chalmers' door. He didn't hear her and for a moment she stood looking at him. His attention was on a bound sheaf of papers in front of him. He sighed once as he turned a page and continued his reading.

“Rowe,” she said very quietly.

He wasn't surprised, not at all. “Hello,” he said, not looking up for a moment. “What do you want? Again?”

“The same. Again.”

He tossed his pen on top of the pages and sat back in his chair. “And I'll say it again, Miss Carleton—Catherine—let it go.” He saw the stubborn set of her jaw, and added, “I can't believe your esteemed Uncle Michael or your grandmother is pleased about your activities.”

“No, but I really don't care.”

She walked past him to the windows and gazed down at the wealth of city lights below. “This view is beautiful,” she said. “I love all the Christmas decorations and lights.”

“Yes,” he said, “yes, it is. What is it going to take to be rid of you?”

She turned slowly. “I understand why you must hate my family, and me.”

“Very perceptive of you.”

Her chin went up. “However, if you hadn't been a
moron and a weakling, you wouldn't have been ripe to do what they bribed you to do.”

“True. I should have kicked my father out years ago. I can just picture him folding up his tent and taking off.”