Inheritance (83 page)

He took out his key ring and used a small brass key to open the drawer. The envelope was there. The box was there. He reached inside and lifted the lid of the box.

Empty.

He staggered and went down on one knee. His head felt as if somebody had cracked him one. He knelt there and started

Inheritance

to shake. She'd found it. And taken it. After all these years of trusting him and believing him, she knew—

What? What did she know? That he'd done the job eleven years ago, on the Cape. That he was the one who'd fought with Owen in the hallway when the old fool reached for the light switch. But that was all she knew. She didn't know about any other robberies; she probably didn't even know there'd been any. How could she? They were all the hell over the place—Paris, Acapulco, Palm Springs—there was no way she could know about them.

But she wouldn't trust him anymore. She wouldn't love him anymore. And if she did find out about the others . . .

His head was throbbing and he was shaking all over. He was scared to death. He had to get out of there. She'd call him in the morning, or wait for him in his office, and confront him with those big eyes, looking at him as if he'd let her down and he couldn't stand it.

She wouldn't help him anymore, or worry about him, or try to take care of him. She wouldn't give a damn about him ever again because now she knew he'd lied to her all these years. He'd even made her think it was Ben, and she'd loved Ben so much.

She'd fire him.

He started to cry. She was the only person in the world he loved, and the only person whose love he cared about, and now he'd lost it.

He should have sold the fucking necklace. But he'd never been able to let go of it. At first he'd thought he'd sell it, like the rest of Leni's jewels, but it was too valuable and too well known. And then he knew he didn't really want to sell it, because those bastards had kicked him and Laura out, and the necklace was like a badge of honor: he'd fucked the Salingers. He would pick it up and run it through his fingers and think. They want it back but they'll never get it. They took Laura's inheritance and kicked us out. They stole from us; I stole from them.

But after a while he almost forgot the necklace. The past few years he'd barely looked at it. He had so many other things going for him: bigger stakes, bigger risks, the greatest time of his life.

Judith Michael

"Clay?" Myma was calling from the kitchen, as if they'd never had a fight. "I've got cheese and crackers; do you want some?"

He tried to answer, but he was crying and only a strangled sound came out.

"Clay?"

"Yeah. Wait."

"I was thinking of hot spiced wine. Unless you want brandy."

"Brandy."

'Then bring some from the buffet, okay?"

''Okay. Few minutes."

'Take your time. I know what I'll do. I'll make hot wine and spike it with brandy. That ought to get my man in a good mood before I take him off to bed."

Got to get out of here. The words were a drumbeat inside him. Out of here, out of here, out ... He couldn't face Laura; he couldn't bear to see that she hated him. Out, out, out. Shaking, tears streaming down his face, he pulled a duffel bag from under the bed and threw pants and sweaters into it, shirts, underpants, socks, an extra pair of shoes. Yanking off his dress shirt and tuxedo pants, he pulled on Levi's and a fisherman's sweater, socks and loafers, and a dark cap.

He yanked open the top drawer of the file cabinet and took from the back, hidden behind Laura's letters, two manila envelopes. He sHpped them into his duffel bag. From another folder, he took three of his favorite pictures of Laura and put them between the envelopes to keep them from getting crushed.

All that had taken barely five minutes. From the bottom drawer he grabbed the thick envelope with Laura's name on it in Owen's handwriting. She must not have noticed it, he thought; she must have been so blown away at finding the necklace she didn't look at anything else. The envelope went into the duffel bag, too. He didn't know what he'd do with it—he knew she didn't need it anymore, now that she'd bought the shares in Salinger Hotels—but maybe someday it would help him find a way to make her love him again.

"Clay? Just about ready."

"Wait."

Inheritance

He zipped shut the duffel. He was still crying but he moved instinctively, slithering around the bookshelves and along the wall of the huge room with a speed and silence he'd perfected in years of practice. At the front door he grabbed his leather bomber jacket from the coat closet. And then, without a backward glance, he opened the door in absolute silence and closed it behind him, and was gone.

The flight to Boston was storm-tossed as the plane flew through rain and turbulent winds, and Laura gave up trying to concentrate on the meeting to come. Clay, not Ben. Clay, not Ben. All night the refrain had kept her awake. And the other thefts — everything Paul said — probably true, probably true, probably true. Her thoughts were as turbulent as the storm that had started about three in the morning and which still raged. She had wanted her own family. She had wanted it so badly she never looked beyond it to see the signs that were there. The clues were all there for me to see, but I wanted to believe in him.

Very early, Myma had called, her voice angry. "He's gone. Snuck out while I was making him spiced wine. I thought he'd come back, but I think some of his clothes are gone, too. It was just a silly quarrel; everybody has them; but this time he took off. I suppose he's with you; he always runs to you as if you're his mommy. Please let me talk to him."

"I haven't seen him," Laura had said. She knew why Clay had left, but she would never tell Myma; it would only make everything worse. She'd have to think about how to find him —or maybe leave him alone until he worked things out for himself and came back—but she couldn't think about it now; she had no time. She had to think about the Salinger board meeting.

She hadn't decided what she would do there. Until last night, she'd planned on walking in and exposing Ben for what he was, identifying herself as his sister. Why should she care if that hurt him with the Salingers? Look what he'd done to her.

But now she knew he hadn't done anything to her. He hadn't robbed the Salingers, he hadn't fought with Owen, he hadn't betrayed her. He'd told the truth, and she hadn't be-

611

Judith Michael

lieved him; she'd told him she never wanted to see him again. She'd sent him away just as cruelly as the Salingers had sent her away.

Now that she knew that, how could she jeopardize everything he had? She had no right to invade the life he'd made and reveal his secrets.

But if she didn't tell them who she was, she couldn't get her stock purchase approved.

She didn't know what she would do. There was no reason to go to Boston if she was not going to claim her right to the shares as Ben's sister. But she had dreamed of confronting Fehx for so long—so he would know she had gotten back what he had stolen from her—that the thought of giving it up forever made her feel empty inside. I know I shouldn't want it; I've already got so much, and I have to think of Ben. . . . But she did want it. It was inextricably entwined with the drive that had fueled her ever since Felix sent her away.

I can't decide now, she told herself. I'll think of something on the plane. There's still time. I can't miss this meeting, I can't just give it up and forget about it, there must be a way. . . .

By the time the plane had landed in Boston and she was in a taxi, riding through the familiar tunnel to the city, she was feeling queasy and light-headed, and it didn't seem to matter whether it was from the flight, or the long sleepless hours in bed aftsr she had left Clay's apartment, or her apprehension about what lay ahead. Felix. And Ben.

At the Boston Salinger, everything was the same, yet everything was different. The hotel stood in haughty grandeur overlooking the Public Gardens: the lobby was crowded with businesspeople in gray and brown suits, all carrying identical briefcases; in the comer, Jules LeClair, impeccable and not a day older, sat at his desk handing out keys and advice. But the lobby was not as big as Laura remembered, and Jules was not as daunting, and the overhead chandelier was certainly smaller and less brilliant than in her memory. And some of the ashtrays needed cleaning; she remembered the lobby as always spotless and shining. Amidst the turmoil of her thoughts, she smiled. What had changed was Laura Fairchild.

She was late because of the storm, and she walked quickly

Inheritance

to the elevators, before Jules could see her. She rode to the top floor, so swept by memories she was thinking of nothing else as she walked past the receptionist to the conference room door and opened it. She stood just inside, waiting for the men at the long table to notice her.

Ben saw her first. Looking up from the papers he was scanning, he frowned at the interruption, then looked puzzled because he saw someone he thought he knew . . . and then, his eyes wide with astonishment, he shoved back his chair. But before he could say anything, Felix was on his feet. "What the hell are you doing here? Get out!"

**Good morning, Felix," Laura said. Turmoil churned within her, but outwardly she was as cool as her severely cut ice blue suit. "Good morning, gentlemen." She came to the table and held out her hand to the man seated nearest to her. "Laura Fairchild."

His eyebrows rose. "Cole Hatton." He stood and shook her hand.

Across the table from Hatton sat Thomas Janssen, and Laura turned to him, holding out her hand. "I'm glad to see you again."

"My goodness, Laura," he said simply, and held her hand in his.

"This is a board meeting," Felix snapped. "If you don't leave, I'll have you removed."

Laura moved on and held out her hand to Asa. He looked at it, but he could not take it. Confused, his eyes darting about the room, all he could do was nod and turn away.

Laura hesitated; then, her face flushed, she introduced herself to the next two men, whom she did not know. They both stood and shook her hand. And then she was beside Ben, her hand out. "Good morning."

Their eyes met for a long moment: it seemed to Laura to last forever. Then Ben took her hand. "Good morning. I'm glad to see you." He moved aside so that his chair was free. "Will you sit down?"

"She will not." Felix's lips were a thin line. "This is a closed meeting!"

Cole Hatton interrupted. "I'd like to know why Miss Fair-child is here."

Judith Michael

Laura sat in Ben's chair and took from her briefcase the purchase agreement she and Ginny had signed, "Virginia Starrett has sold me her shares in Salinger Hotels Incorporated. Since the purchase must be approved by the board, I thought it would be expedient for me to come in person—"

"Expedient!" Felix's face was dark; veins bulged at the sides of his forehead. "Bullshit! You came to make trouble! You know this board will not approve that purchase— "

"Felix," Cole Hatton said, "we haven't discussed this. I have no idea how I would vote on Miss Fairchild's purchase."

"Irrelevant," Felix snapped. "It will not be approved. This woman has—"

"I dislike being called irrelevant," Hatton said, his color rising.

"This woman has no moral character—no moral fiber— she is not fit to own a portion of this company—"

"Yes, you said that before," Thomas Janssen said mildly. He looked at Laura. She sat straight, with Ben beside her; he was watching her with that odd look of surprise, almost wonder, he'd had when she first appeared. They hold their heads the same way, Thomas thought; they even look a little alike: something about the eyes . . . "But I think we should listen to Laura. It's been a long time, you know, and things change, and perhaps we could benefit from her expertise."

*This matter is not on today's agenda," Felix snapped. "It will have to— '*

"What's been a long time?" one of the other board members asked.

"What does moral fiber have to do with business?" the man beside him asked.

"This woman's hotels are under investigation for criminal activities," Felix said, his voice rising.

" ^Criminal'?" Thomas asked.

"Thefts of fine art, massive thefts— "

"The hotels are stealing art?" Hatton demanded. "Pretty lively for a hotel, if you ask me. Well, Miss Fairchild, you tell us. Are you in trouble with the law?"

"No," she said.

"Police questioning you about your hotels running around stealing art?"

Inheritance

"No."

"Police questioning you about anything?*'

"No."

"Police talking to you about anything?"

"No."

"Well, I don't need more than that. Miss Fairchild's name is one of the best in the business. I don't know what investigation you're talking about, Felix, but it strikes me as irrelevant. If Miss Fairchild has a purchase agreement from Virginia Stairett, I say we vote on it and get on with the meeting. It's a simple up or down vote. And I so move."

"You may if you insist," Felix said furiously. "In fact, I'll second it. And I vote no. Asa?"

Asa looked at the table. "No," he mumbled.

"So that settles it," Felix said. "Approval requires three-fourths of the board, and Asa and I, together, have almost a third. We'll go on with the meeting as soon as"—he gestured toward Laura, unable to say her name—^'leaves." There was a pause. Laura stared at her hands clasped on the edge of the table. "I'm waiting."

"Of course the two of you can block it," Thomas said, "but I would like to discuss it further. I can make a motion to do that, if you'd like; I don't want to think we might be acting too hastily for a second time with Laura. If this is a bona fide sale, it seems to me she has a right to her shares. She paid a great deal of money for them. I for one am quite amazed—^"

"Yes, we are all amazed," Felix said sarcastically. *The vote has been taken, and no new motion is on the floor. But since you bring it up, if the money was stolen, as it probably was, then the sale would be invalid on that ground alone."

"It was not stolen," Laura said clearly. She stood and walked to the windows, where she turned to look at them. Her voice was steady. "I thought most members of this board would be willing to vote on my ownership without prejudice. I especially hoped that Asa . . . Well, I did hope that Asa might. This is a bona fide sale," she said to Thomas. "If you want to ask Ginny Starrett about it, I'll give you her telephone number. And you were right about needing my hotel expertise: someone isn't cleaning the ashtrays in the lobby."