False Pretenses (9 page)

“Very well. Now I suppose we can get down to business. My grandson asked you what news you have.”

“None,” said Rowe.

“Come now, darling,” Catherine said, sitting up on the edge of the love seat. “Surely all your after-sex talk isn't about Elizabeth's beautiful toes.”

“I have told you that Elizabeth has withdrawn more and more from the active business.”

“She still must know things,” Laurette said. “ Strategy that Brad isn't let in on.”

“I told you about the sales campaign. That struck a significant blow,” said Rowe.

Michael said softly, “Such a pity that old Avery snuffed himself. The perfect scapegoat.”

“You should know,” Rowe said, his voice low. “You pushed him hard enough.”

“Come now, Mr. Chalmers,” Laurette said in her most imperious voice. “It was you who requested this meeting, not us. What is it you have to tell us?”

Rowe looked at each of them in turn. He wanted to kill them, all of them, very slowly. He said, “I have fulfilled my end of the bargain. I want out. Mr. Carleton”—he pointed a finger at Michael—“he promised me that it would end.”

Michael looked amused. “Really, my dear boy, it wasn't my fault that your father squandered the family money through his miserable management and gambling. You need money to bail out your precious bank. And this is the only well in town.”

Rowe looked directly at Laurette. “Why do you want to hurt your son's corporations? Why do you want to destroy what he built?”

Laurette said very softly, “Revenge, Mr. Chalmers. I want Elizabeth Xavier Carleton to know that she can't murder my son and get off scot-free.”

“I do believe,” Catherine drawled, “that our dear stud is having attacks of conscience. Is dear Elizabeth that good a lay?”

“Don't be crude, Catherine,” Laurette said, frowning slightly. Catherine hadn't used to be so unladylike, but during the past six months or so . . . She would
think about it later, these changes in Catherine. “Mr. Chalmers will continue to feed us information until we are satisfied. You will have another million dollars deposited in your personal account as soon as we know the next computer company scheduled for buy-out.”

“For God's sake, Elizabeth doesn't know!”

“Ask her,” said Michael.

“She'll tell you anything, won't she, Rowe?” Catherine crossed her legs. “You worked fast enough in Paris. You've got her just where you want her. Panting.”

“She didn't kill your son, Mrs. Carleton.”

Laurette studied his face, and hers didn't soften. “Is my granddaughter right, Mr. Chalmers? Are you falling, as they say, for that woman?”

Rowe didn't answer.

“She murdered him, all right,” said Laurette. “I have no doubts, not a one. Perhaps you'd best watch your back.”

“You know the terms, Chalmers,” Michael said sharply. “Don't try to back out on us. Don't try to marry Elizabeth Carleton. You know what will happen if you try.”

“We need more information, Mr. Chalmers,” Laurette said quietly. “The security network that man Adrian Marsh has set up is very nearly impenetrable.”

“We couldn't even set him up with the best-looking hooker in New York,” said Michael, honest surprise in his voice. “Have any of you
seen
his wife?”

“I did,” said Catherine. “I thought both she and Elizabeth would expire in the restaurant.”

“I will speak to you later about that, Catherine,” said Laurette, frowning at her granddaughter. “I detest ill-bred scenes.”

Catherine gave an elegant shrug.

“When do I get out of this?” Rowe asked.

“According to my information, which is entirely
correct, of course,” said Michael, “you are still in need of about five million more. You've got a ways to go yet, Chalmers. Now, I believe you will be with Elizabeth this entire weekend, right?”

Rowe nodded.

“Then I suggest that you get cracking. You have a good deal of experience with women. Elizabeth can't be all that different. Hell, talk her into being more involved with business. And, Chalmers, do find out about the next takeover, won't you?”

Rowe stared at each of them in turn. Five million dollars, and everything would be safe. He would be saved, and his father wouldn't be disgraced. “I hear that steel shipments have been stolen, lost, and otherwise detained.”

“Small beans,” said Michael. “All that does is give the managers ulcers.”

“And cut into direct profits,” said Rowe.

“You are dithering, Mr. Chalmers,” said Laurette suddenly. “What is the matter? The truth, if you please.”

“Elizabeth loves me. I can't continue stringing her along without marriage. She wants marriage and a family, I know it. She wants a commitment from me.”

“So did my son, Mr. Chalmers, so did my son, and look where he ended up.”

“Lie,” said Brad. “You're a marvel at that, Chalmers.”

Rowe turned on his heel and strode toward the door. He heard Michael call after him, “Just remember the five million. I'll call you on Tuesday evening. Be home, Rowe, and have some information for me. Worthwhile information, or I promise you, you will regret it.”

It had begun to rain, a steady, cold downpour. Elizabeth didn't move, not until she heard a car, Rowe's car, screech down the driveway.

 

“G
ood evening, Mr. Chalmers.” “Hello, Kogi. How are you?”

“Just fine, thank you, sir,” Kogi said as he took Rowe's black umbrella. “Mrs. Carleton be out in a moment. A drink, Mr. Rowe?”

“One of your martinis, Kogi.” Left alone for a moment, Rowe walked to the long set of floor-to-ceiling windows and peered out into the heavy rain. He didn't want to go out again, particularly in this god-awful weather, but Elizabeth loved the symphony.

“Good evening, Rowe.”

He spun around, a wide smile on his lips. “ Elizabeth,” he said, and strode toward her.

God, she looked beautiful, in a long white satin gown with narrow straps over her shoulders. She was wearing an emerald pendant around her neck that reached the cleavage between her breasts. He felt his breathing quicken, and reached for her.

Elizabeth stepped back, to stand on the other side of her piano. “How was Boston?”

“Muggy and hot, as usual, about the same as here, except you've got the rain.”

“When did you get in?”

“An hour ago. I went to my place first to change.”

“Yes,” she said. “You look very nice in a dinner jacket, Rowe. Very nice indeed.”

“You know, sweetheart, we don't have to go out this evening. I would just as soon not share you, not as gorgeous as you look.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you. No, I really don't want to go out tonight either.”

“It has been a long week,” he said, giving her his special smile. “Too long away from you.”

“Kogi has prepared us one of his special dinners. I trust you're hungry?”

“You can count on that, lady. Now, about food . . .” He broke off and gave her his best comical leer.

“Ah, here's your martini and my white wine. Thank you, Kogi. Mr. Rowe and I will dine in, say, thirty minutes?”

“Yes, certainly, Mrs. Carleton,” Kogi said, and took himself back to his kitchen.

“To us, Elizabeth,” Rowe said, and clicked his glass toward hers.

“Yes, to you and to me.”

Elizabeth sipped at her wine, watching him. She gave him a sweet, wistful smile and said, “When will I meet your family, Rowe?”

“Not as soon as I'd like,” he said. “My parents can't abide the humid weather and are leaving tomorrow for Bermuda.”

“I see. How long will they be gone?”

He shrugged. “A couple of months, I suppose. They have a house in Hamilton, you know.”

“No, I didn't know, but it makes no difference, does it?”

“No,” he said slowly, “I suppose not. What have you been doing, Elizabeth?”

“This week? Ah, I decided to give my music a bit of a rest. I spent most of today with Adrian and my
other nobles.” She sighed. “I do miss Avery. Poor man.”

“Are you certain you wish to embroil yourself in all that nonsense again?”

“Rod and Adrian have convinced me to. And, of course, we need to replace Avery. We reviewed applications this afternoon.”

“I see. Wanna give me the job?” He skirted the piano as he spoke, and drew her into his arms. “Then I could be with you every day and you could chase me around my desk.”

He kissed her. Then he grew still. He leaned back and looked down into her face. “What's wrong, Elizabeth?”

She rested her fingertips against his jaw. “Nothing, it's just that . . .”

“Just what?”

“Well, I started my period today, Rowe.”

He gave her a moan that turned into a grin. “I keep telling you that that doesn't have to be a problem.”

He kissed her again. “You're not feeling too hot?”

“No, not really. Forgive me, Rowe.”

He groaned again and stepped away. “I guess all my appetites will have to be saved for Kogi's dinner.”

“That's the idea,” Elizabeth said.

Kogi served them a Caesar salad followed by a pork roast with potatoes au gratin and green peas.

“I think I'll try to steal Kogi from you, Elizabeth. Delicious, as usual.”

“Yes, and he's made strawberry tarts for dessert.”

“I don't know how you stay so thin.”

“He only serves this kind of food when I have company. I usually rate only a broiled chicken breast and a little rice. And I walk a lot, you know.”

“When you're not practicing.”

“Or now, when I'll be involved in top-level business talks.”

He forked down a bite of potato. “Who are you considering to take Avery's spot?”

“There is one man we're particularly interested in. His name is James Houston, and oddly enough, he does now live in Houston, Texas. He's brilliant in marketing, and with enough inducement, I just bet we can get him here to New York.”

“Never heard of him,” Rowe said. “Who is he with now?”

“He's ready to leave the top marketing position with Brammerson Oil. Even though oil prices aren't as depressed as they were, he's still reviewing his options, as the business folk say.”

“Sounds pretty smart to me,” said Rowe. He sat back in his chair and patted his flat stomach. “Call me stuffed. I just wish I could work off the calories in bed, Elizabeth.”

He took her hand in his and gently squeezed her fingers. “Are these talented hands insured?”

“Yes, by Lloyds, as a matter of fact. Timothy insisted, three years ago. It seems rather silly to me, but he acted like he was giving me a special present.”

Kogi served them espresso, and with a nod from Elizabeth, cleared the table and left them alone. Elizabeth took her coffee with her to the living room and sat down in a chair, not on the sofa.

“Will you feel well enough to give me my own private concert tonight?”

She nodded.

Rowe set down his coffee cup and put his feet up on the glass coffee table. “You're awfully quiet tonight. You haven't run into any obnoxious press, have you?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Not the press, though. The district attorney, Anthony Moretti. In front of Bloomingdale's.”

Rowe sat forward, his entire body tensing with anger. “What did the bastard say to you?”

“Nothing more than he's said at great length in the past. That I am a murderess and rich and thus could buy off anyone I pleased. That I am a slut and my lovers should watch their backs in case I tired of them and wanted them out of the way.”

“You could sue him, you know.”

“The media would go bananas with glee if I did.” Her eyes glittered. “I'd probably beat out any political scandals in the newspaper. Perhaps you, as my lover, should take heed, Rowe.”

“Stop it, Elizabeth.”

“You're right, I'll cease this moment.” She jumped to her feet and walked swiftly to the piano. Unexpectedly, she played jazz, and very well. He'd never heard her improvise before.

Later, when he held her in his arms in bed, she in a long flannel nightgown, she told him about their proposed target computer business.

 

“I can't do it.”

“What did you say, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth started, realizing she'd spoken aloud. “Oh, nothing, Adrian. Just thinking with my mouth open. Tell me about the Cordie stock.”

“Weirdest thing about that,” he mused, leaning back in his chair. “The stock's gone haywire with the rumors of a takeover.”

“Any speculation on who's doing the taking over?”

“Sure. It's the Laufferson Group.”

She said very softly, “What is the relationship between the Laufferson top people and Michael Carleton?”

His chair came forward with a sharp thud. “Why, Elizabeth? What aren't you telling me? How did you know about this?”

“Just answer my question, Adrian.”

“None that I know of,” he said. “Now, why don't you tell me—”

She raised her hand and her voice was cold. “No, Adrian. There's a tie-in, I'm sure of it. Please put someone or several someones on it and get back to me this afternoon.”

He nodded; he had no choice in the matter. She was acting differently, very differently. She tended to be reserved, aloof, but now there was something else about her, something more . . . determined. She was keeping something from him, most definitely. But what could she possibly know about Cordie? He knew that she wouldn't speak frankly to him, at least at the present time. She'd made that clear enough. He said, “I'll call you as soon as I know something.”

“This afternoon, Adman,” she said.

She gave him a semblance of a smile and headed toward the door of his office. She turned and said, “Incidentally, you know that man who left Brammerson Oil? Mr. Houston?”

“Sure, what about him?”

“Find out who just hired him.”

He stared at her, but she was gone. James Houston. He'd turned out to be a real flake, upon very close scrutiny by one of their top investigators, a man who had little imagination beyond selling barrels of oil. And he used his staff mercilessly, stealing their ideas, giving them no credit.

At three o'clock that afternoon Adrian and Rod Samuels were admitted to the Carleton home by Liam Gallagher.

Elizabeth was dressed in a leotard, doing exercises to an Elunda workout tape. She smiled as they entered, and wiped the sweat off her forehead. “In force, I see,” she said as she turned off the VCR. She shook their hands. “Hello, Rod. I gather you have the information I requested, Adrian. You could have phoned, you know.”

“No, I couldn't,” Adrian said slowly.

“Elizabeth, what the hell is going on here?”

“Do sit down, Rod, Adrian.” She sat on the floor, crossing her legs in lotus fashion. “Talk, please.”

Adrian shot a look toward Rod, drew a deep breath, and said, “You wanted to know if there was any connection between the Laufferson Group and Michael Carleton. There is. The chairman of the board of Laufferson is a personal friend of Michael's. As a matter of fact, Michael bailed him out of a financial bind some five years ago. He owes Michael, big.”

“And Laufferson is going to buy Cordie,” Elizabeth said.

“So it would appear,” said Rod. “How did you know, Elizabeth?”

“Next answer, please, Adrian,” she said, and Rod frowned. She looked like a shapely kid sitting there on the floor in her pink leotard, her blond hair pulled back in a ratty ponytail. But her voice was sharp, hard, as were her eyes.

“Very well. James Houston was hired just yesterday by a textile company based in Atlanta. They offered him the sky.”

“Can I assume that this textile company is some sort of division of MAI?”

“Yes, it is.”

Elizabeth smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile.

Rod sat forward on the sofa. “Please, Elizabeth, you know something.”

Elizabeth uncurled her legs and rose, slinging the towel about her neck. “Well, there it is. Now, gentlemen, I would like to make a recommendation. We've been having all sorts of shipping problems with Millsom Steel. The manager there is pulling out his hair and we're losing money and credibility with clients. Hire some private detectives, Adrian. I believe they'll quickly discover that these problems have nothing to do with incompetence or Murphy's Law or gremlins. The Carletons are paying people to wreak havoc. Find
out who those men are, Adrian, and take care of them.”

“It sounds to me as if you have a tap on Michael Carleton's phone.” Adrian meant it as a joke, albeit a weak one, but Elizabeth appeared to give it serious thought.

“You could say that I do. Incidentally, let's do put a tap on Brad's office phone. Oh, and, Adrian, do have a weekly check to see that our phones aren't bugged.” She smiled a real smile this time, adding, “I enjoy watching
Law and Order
on TV. I learned on that show all about bugging and debugging. It is done, isn't it?”

“We do a check monthly, Elizabeth,” Adrian said.

“Now do it weekly. And I hope you can trust the guys doing the checking?”

“I . . . I suppose so.”

“Please be certain, Adrian.” She gave them both a bright smile. “I guess that will be all. I'll be in the office tomorrow morning bright and early.”

“Why?” Rod asked, standing.

“It's time I look my responsibilities more seriously, don't you think? I have so much to learn.”

 

No more rumors. Not a one. Jonathan Harley smiled as he ran past Betsy Ross's house. He was safe. NetFrame was safe.

The divorce would soon be final, and ah, there was the rub. He had to get his hands on enough money to buy out Rose's stock. He quickened his pace. Who to get the money from?

Would Rose sell the stock, or hang on to it and hassle him endlessly? She was already seeing another man, a wealthy physician, a man old enough to be her father. Perhaps she did see him as a father. Andrew Pillson was a powerful figure in her life. Jonathan shrugged as he ran. It was no longer his concern. Next week he would be free. Finally.