Inheritance (85 page)

"My God," AUison gasped. "Ben? What the hell is going on?"

Laura and Ben turned sharply, but before either of them could speak, they looked at each other and burst out laughing, and could not stop.

Allison, six months pregnant, flushed with fatigue, stood in the center of the room, looking toward the bay window. All she could see were silhouettes as the laughter rang out. "Is it funny?" she asked furiously. "Will somebody please let me in on the—"

"Allison," said Leni, her voice strained, "it's Laura."

Inheritance

"What? Laura? Laura? Oh, for God's sake, how did you do that?" She burst into tears. "God damn it, can't you leave the men of this family alone?"

The laughter died. Ben leaped from the couch and went to Allison, enfolding her in his arms. "It isn't what you think. Allison, darling AUison, listen. Please."

"You laughed," she said accusingly.

"Yes, but only because—oh, Chnst, it's so complicated— ^*

"No, it's not; it's very simple. Vm very simple. I never suspected—never even thought —"

"Alhson, I'm Ben's sister," said Laura. Her low clear voice rode over Allison's, cutting it off.

There was silence for the length of a heartbeat, and then AUison tore away from Ben's embrace. "Sister! My God, the oldest line in the world! Sister! Couldn't you think of something original? You were always so clever—how stupid do you think I am?"

"You're not," Laura said quickly, before Ben could speak. She went to stand beside him. "You helped make me what I am, you taught me a lot about the world, and you made me much too clever to use a tired old line that no one would believe. I'm telling you the truth; I am Ben's sister."

"I don't want to hear that!"

"Damn it, Allison, listen to me; I'm trying to tell you—^"

"Don't you swear at me! You're here with my husband, lying to me—!"

"She's not lying!" Ben exclaimed. "If you'd listen—"

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm asking you to! Laura's telling the truth, and if you'd just be quiet for a minute, maybe we could get past this crazy scene. . . ." He waited, as if to see if what he'd set in motion would collapse.

But this time Allison was silent, and Laura said quietly. *The time I did lie to you was long ago, when I lived here. I wish I hadn't. I can't tell you how much I wish I hadn't. We all did each other harm, and I wish we could undo it, but couldn't we start, now, to tell the truth? Ben is my brother— half brother, really; Clay and I were bom after our mother remarried, but we never thought of ourselves as anything but brother and sister when we were growing up. We kept it from

Judith Michael

you because"—she tcxDk a long breath—"Clay and I thought he'd done the robber.- at the Cape, the first summer we were there, and I wouldn't see him anymore after that. I chose you over him, and we hadn't seen each other since that da v. Eleven years ... We were both wTong to keep it a secret, and I'm som' we did— I'm sorrv we did so many things—but vou have to beheve me . . r Involuntarily she smiled. '^This isn't a love affair; it's a reunion."

This time the silence was longer.

"It's crazy," said .\llison.

"Indeed it is." agreed Leni, '*But after all ..." She looked from Laura to Ben and back again, and there was doubt in her voice. i

**I did want to tell you." Ben said to Allison. "But the longer I put it off the harder it got."

"You lied to me. The whole time we've known each other."

Ben looked at Leni. "Please help us."

And Laura echoed it. "Please. If vou'd let roe ... let us ^ . . . We want to end the lying. We want to tell you everything."

Leni canoe to Laura and stood close to her, studying her face. Laura met her eyes, and for a long moment the two women stood that wav, as if searching for a time that was gone. Then Leni nodded, without smiling. 'I'd like to hear it," she said. She went to the sofa, took off her hat and jacket, and sat down. She lifted the cozy off the teapot and looked inside. "How nice. There's enough for all of us. Allison, come sit beside me. Ben. bring chairs for you and Laura. We'U have tea." She waited while Ben brought two armchairs to the tea table, and he and Laura sat down, facing the bay wmdow. Leni poured tea. ""Now," she said, "Allison and I | would like ver>' much to hear everything." >

Laura could not remember her ever being so formidable. She wondered briefly if it was leaving P^lix that had helped her achieve that confident authority, but then Ben began to : talk and she Ustened to him, her tea growing cold. 1

"It was my fault: I thought up the robbery of your house on the Cape. A child's revenge," he said to Leni, "for Judd. I -didn't tell you that when we talked before." J

Leni stared at him. "You used Laura and Qay?" \

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**Yes," he said roughly. "I used them. And I've never forgiven myself for it."

"Judd?" Allison said in bewildennent.

"Not our Judd," Ben replied. "My father." And then he told it all, beginning with the day his mother told his father she wouldn't live with him anymore because of the spiral of despair and drinking that followed the theft of his company. His words were measured as he told Alhson—and Laura, too, because she had never heard it—the story of Felix and Judd, and the vow of revenge that had sparked everything the young Ben Gardner had done in the years after his father's death.

When his story reached the time that Laura and Clay arrived at the house in Osterville, Laura picked it up, her low voice following his with barely a pause.

Taking turns, they told everything, up to the board meeting that morning. They did not mention Colby's investigation. That was another story, for another day. The afternoon light faded, the nanny brought Judd home and took him to the kitchen for his dinner, Allison turned on the lamp beside her, and Ben and Laura told their story.

When they finished, Allison was crying. "If you'd told me, if you'd just told me," she said to Laura. "I loved you so much, and I wanted to beheve you ... but then Daddy said you'd done all those things, and you didn't deny it—my God, your face was so cold!—and you looked at us as if you didn't know us."

"She didn't," Leni said. "We'd become strangers.** She leaned forward and took Laura's hand. "I'm so sorry, my dear. So terribly sorry. We gave you love and a home and then took them from you; I can't think of anything worse that people can do to each other."

"They can lie," Laura said. "And that's what we did." A wistful smile touched her lips. "I've wanted to tell you I was sorry for that for a long time. But when we lived with you I was too afraid, and afterward, I was too hurt. And angry.'*

They sat in silence for a moment. Leni had struggled with herself briefly, wondering if she should tell Laura and Allison her part in the story. But she kept silent. It had nothing to do with what was happening in this room—a recapturing of loves that had been lost—and it would not add to anyone's under-

Judith Michael

standing of the past eleven years. It was better to keep it between her and Ben. There will always be secrets, she thought; that's why we need trust, and understanding, and love.

"But once you get past all the anger," Allison said wonder-ingly, "we feel the same way about each other. Don't we?"

"Yes," Laura said. Her heart was pounding; it seemed impossible that she and Allison could be friends again.

"If feelings are enough," AlUson said, suddenly doubtful. She looked at her mother. "Can we really just forget everything? All of us? Or will we always wonder if there are more secrets and more lies, so we can't ever be sure . . . ?"

Leni knew she was talking about her husband, not Laura. "I don't imagine we'll ever forget," she said. "In fact, I hope we don't. If we forget the past we'll never know how far we've come. But feelings . . . No, I don't think feelings are enough. We have to understand what happened and truly believe we can overcome it to protect the feelings we have. Love and friendship and a good marriage are worth protecting."

Allison nodded. "You said that this summer at the Cape.** The others watched her as she frowned to herself. Laura sat very still. If Allison could accept everything she had heard and love Ben and Laura . . . Then all of us will have moved past that time, she thought, forgiven each other, and become a family again. Except for Clay. I still have to think of what to do about Clay. But so much would be changed, so much would be wonderful . . .

"I always wanted a sister," said Allison. "Remember, Laura, how we used to pretend we were sisters? Now we really are. Isn't that amazing?"

Laura let out her breath. "Yes," she said softly. She held out her hand and Allison took it. "Amazing," she repeated, and they smiled together.

Ben loudly cleared his throat. "Does that include a husband?"

Allison laughed. "Probably." She looked up at him as he came to sit on the arm of the love seat, beside her. "I love you. I can't imagine a life without you."

Leaning over, Ben kissed her. Laura turned away, trying to hide her envy. But her eyes met Leni's, and Leni knew.

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Inheritance

"Oh," Laura said. "I almost forgot. . . ." She reached down and opened her purse and took out Leni*s necklace. "I brought this for you; I was going to give it to Ben, but it's much better this way. I'm so sorry we ever planned it . . ."

Leni held the necklace in the palm of her hand. "But if you hadn't, you wouldn't be part of our family today.'* She gave Laura a smile so open and loving that Laura caught her breath; it was as if the years had disappeared. "Welcome back, dearest Laura. We've missed you. You'll stay with us tonight, won't you? Can you wait until tomorrow to go back? I'll be leaving then; we could go together. We have so much to talk about, much more than we can fit into one evening." She stood and held out her arms.

Laura went to her, dazed by the strangeness of what was happening. "I'd like very much to stay," she said.

Leni held her as if she were a little girl, and smiled. "It's such a relief," she murmured. "Such a wonderful relief to know we weren't wrong in our love. It's quite worth waiting for, to discover that."

How did she get the money?

It was the second time she'd made a fool of him: first with his father, and now with his board of directors, and this time he wasn't going to let it go, the way he had before; this time he'd find a way to destroy her. And it would be through the money; everything came down to money in the end. Whatever anyone did was done because of money. Whatever anyone thought was the result of thinking first about money. He'd get her through the money.

So think. How does a conniving witch who hasn't a penny to her name get the money to buy four hotels and, on top of that, two percent of one of the top corporations in America? She steals it, she forges checks, she prints money in her basement—for Christ's sake, this is no time for jokes—she cons some poor old sucker on his deathbed, somebody who prefers her to his own family . . .

But that's not a crime. You can't get her for that.

Unless it's fraud. And there has to be fraud. There's no way she could have gotten that money legally.

But it could be theft. Jewels. Or art. Colby thought she was

Judith Michael

doing it; he didn't try to hide what he thought. But it wasn't big enough. She couldn't get the kind of money she'd need . . . Could she? He hadn't asked Colby which paintings were stolen. The Rouaults he'd been robbed of were worth a fortune at auction, but how much could someone get fencing them? A fraction of their worth.

Unless they were stolen for someone who was willing to pay for them. Then she might have gotten half a million for the three of them. But to buy the hotels and the shares, she needed at least twenty million, cash.

Maybe it was a little of everything. Fraud, theft, and wheedling it out of men. Fraud, theft, and trickery. A stew of money.

He had to see what her finances were. And he had ways of doing that. It was expensive, but the few times he'd done it with other people who were in his way, it had been well worth it.

It took three days. His informants had to find out which banks she used for mortgages, construction loans, and corporate and personal banking, and then find the people from whom they could buy the information. But it was done quietly and simply, and then he had it all. She was up to her neck in debt.

A smile twisted his mouth. He'd been exaggerating when he told Colby her interest payments could be half a million dollars a year, but he was a lot closer than he'd known; it was probably about three hundred fifty thousand. And it had to come out of those four hotels, plus a salary high enough to support her in New York. Unless it all disintegrated.

She had to have an impossibly high occupancy rate to make that kind of money. That meant creating and keeping the unshakable trust and good will of her clientele.

And what would her clientele think when they heard she was being investigated for a string of art thefts?

All it took was a hint of trouble to worry the kind of people who paid a thousand dollars a night for a suite.