Intrusion: A Novel (17 page)

“She was fascinated by the people on the estate. The bad kids and hoodlums. And, of course, they all stared at her.”

“She creates a stir,” Scott said. “They talk about her all the time in the office. I’ve never known so much office gossip about a client. All the female associates and paralegals chatter about her clothes.”

“I bet they do,” Kat said.

“Yep, Mrs. Sarah Harrison has got everyone curious. Still, let’s have another glass of her wine.”

Kat settled back down on the sofa, pulling the comforter around her. Scott returned and handed her a fresh glass of red wine.

“For you,” he said.

Kat took the glass, raised it for a moment, and then sipped it. Scott clicked the remote so that the theme song of
The NeverEnding Story
filled the room.

EIGHTEEN

O
n a bright, crisp day in the middle of January, a day with a thin winter sun, Kat, sipping coffee in the kitchen, thought about Sarah’s visit on the day after Christmas. She had said she had news, good news, but there had been no phone call from her.

Kat hesitated by the phone, holding the stiff card with the gold lettering tight in her hand, then took a breath and dialed the number on it. Sarah answered at once.

“Kat? Hello!”

Kat could hear voices in the background: another phone was on speaker.

“Hold on, Kat,” Sarah said. “Just one moment.”

Some rustling was audible and Sarah’s voice from a distance.

“Call you back, gentlemen,” Sarah said. The background sound deadened. A moment later, Sarah was back on the phone. “Kat?”

“I’m not interrupting you, am I? Was that a conference call?”

“Nothing important. How are you? Such a lovely surprise to see your name pop up on my phone.”

“It’s just that you said you had news and—”

“I do, I do,” Sarah said. She dropped her voice. “I’ve been looking at prospective young mothers and I’ve found two—well, one is just perfect. One looks a little bit like your son’s girlfriend. Chloe, is it? Pretty Hispanic girl. But the other is ideal. She’s—”

“Chloe?” Kat interrupted, startled. “How do you know about Chloe?”

Silence while Sarah thought about it.

“Didn’t you tell me? Perhaps Scott did. But, listen, Scott is here right now, out on the patio, and I need to get back to business because—”

“Oh. Sorry. I had no idea.”

“How about if I call you back? Tomorrow? Tomorrow morning? Will that be a good time?”

“Anytime,” Kat said, feeling foolish and intrusive. Scott would be furious to find his client distracted by adoption talk during a business meeting. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your—”

“No. Don’t be silly. I’m longing to tell you details. Really. Tomorrow? Okay?”

Kat hung up the phone, biting at her lip. An idiot. She was an idiot. Why hadn’t she just waited like a normal person for Sarah to call? And why was Scott talking about Chloe, about family matters, to Sarah? He never had time to talk at home. Irritable, Kat reached to straighten the curtains and saw that a “Sold” sign had just gone up on Brooke’s house. A fast sale, then, cash most likely. Brooke had deliberately priced it low so that it would move quickly. Someone had left the front gate open, and it swung and rattled in the wind. The blank windows, the missing lawn furniture, made the place look even more abandoned. It felt, to Kat, as if Brooke, with her wide smile, her warm hugs, and easy laughter, had simply vanished. As if she’d never lived there, right across the street.

Scott returned from work in the late afternoon, angry, slamming into the kitchen, throwing his briefcase onto the chair, and then tugging hard at his tie.

“That asshole Woodruff should be hung from a fucking pole,” he stated.

“Well, hi to you, darling. Had a nice day?”

“Sorry.”

“What’s going on?”

“War zone. Woodruff’s doing a whole number on Sarah Harrison. He wants to get his hands on one of her Italian subsidiaries. Apparently, there’s a big merger rumored. He aims to get in on the ground floor. It’s creating a cold war between us.”

“But she’s your client, isn’t she?”

“Well, yes, I handle most of her matters. He’s been doing a lot of social stuff with her. Says he moves in the same circles. Load of bullshit. He must pay somebody so that he gets invited. Asshole.”

Kat studied her husband as, tense and bristling with annoyance, he shrugged off his jacket. Sarah and Woodruff as a social item clearly bothered him.

“Why are you so worried? You think he’s trying to ease you out?”

“No. Well, maybe. He’s certainly trying. She gave him some weird little acquisition deal in the UK. Your old ’hood, as a matter of fact. Bunch of dealerships.”

Kat turned, frowning.

“Car dealerships?”

“Yeah, think they were. Asset-stripping deal. She wants them closed down.”

“Why?”

“Not exactly sure. She was talking about ugly. Blot on the landscape. Stuff like that,” he said. “Anyway, Woodruff got the deal. Not that I wanted it. Sounds a bit goofy.”

“The Shouty Man’s business,” Kat said.

Scott frowned.

“The what?”

“I remember the dealerships. The guy who owned them was on TV. We called him the Shouty Man. Tracey, his daughter, was at my school.”

“Really?” Scott said. “Well, Mr. Shouty Man’s daughter must have done something to piss Sarah off. She gave Woodruff another weird UK deal, too.”

“Weird? Why was it weird?”

“Some little guy she was buying out. Falconbridge or something.”

“Falconbridge?” asked Kat, fast. “A solicitor?”

“Yeah. Probate. Sarah is buying out the leases to his office building, wants to close the place down. God knows why. The old guy is due to retire any minute.”

Kat leaned back against the kitchen counter, remembering Sarah’s hatred of the solicitor who had controlled her trust fund, recalling, with shame, her own part in the distressing drama around Sarah’s pregnancy. She had gone along with Sarah to visit the lawyer’s office, had waited outside while Sarah pleaded for money for a termination, although the mystery boy involved had already given her cash and she had no intention of having a termination in any case. She wanted to keep the child, she told Kat. Why not? It was hers. Mr. Falconbridge had asked for the boy’s name; Sarah had refused to divulge it. She begged him for money, she said. She told him it was her trust fund, and she was entitled to it. Then, she tried to threaten him. He would not be persuaded.

On the bus back to school, Sarah told Kat further details of the confrontation. When the solicitor refused to give her the funds, she told him that fine, she would keep the baby. She requested that he help her sell it.

“He was always telling me I had to be careful with money. So I told him it was a good way to make some,” Sarah told Kat. “People love society babies. We could get a really good price.”

Kat, scared, not sure whether to believe her friend and worried about her erratic behavior, had secretly called Aunt Helen, and the shocked woman had taken over. She arranged for an abortion, although it was later in the pregnancy than Sarah had indicated, and Helen had struggled to find a doctor willing to do it. Sarah believed that Falconbridge had telephoned her aunt and had been furious at his betrayal. Kat had never told her the truth.

“She hated that solicitor,” Kat said now to Scott, feeling a surge of guilt for the deception years ago. “I’m surprised it took her this long to go after him.”

“She didn’t have the means to go after anybody until after Sam Harrison’s death,” Scott said, heading to the cupboard, pulling out a bottle of scotch. “But she’s sure making up for lost time. She’s got a couple of vendettas going on right now. Sometimes she makes great decisions, and sometimes she makes no sense at all. They make sense to her, I guess. Ah, it will resolve. It always does. I need a drink. You want something?”

Kat nodded.

“White wine?”

“Coming up.”

Kat began slicing up the French loaf, placing it in a basket. So Sarah was catching up with her old enemies, one by one, like some dark knight crusader. They couldn’t have known, that old-fashioned solicitor and those judgmental middle-class girls, that the aristocratic beauty with no available money would one day have such power. Though they might have guessed, even then, that it was not a good idea to cross her.

Kat set the table as Scott, calmer now, switched on the TV to watch the news.

“So you were out at Malibu?” she asked.

Scott did not look at her; he kept his eyes on the television screen.

“What? No. Sarah came into the office.”

Kat, frowning, set the knife she was holding down slowly, thought for a moment, and then turned to look at him.

“But I talked to Sarah this morning. She said you were out at her beach house.”

Scott took a long swallow of his drink, then spoke rapidly.

“Oh, right. We were out at Malibu in the morning,” he said. “Checking some blueprints and—”

Kat, cold with shock, moved closer so that she could see his face. She had never known Scott to lie to her.

“So why did you lie about it?” she asked.

He glanced at her quickly, looked back at the screen.

“I didn’t lie,” he said. “Not really. Got a bit confused, that’s all. And Christ, does it matter? You’re always saying things like
You’ve been out at the beach.
Makes it sound like I’m just lazing out there in the sun, and in fact I’m busting my fucking ass—”

“What do you mean I’m
always
saying things?” Kat said, anger sharpening her voice. “I made a comment about you being out at the beach once. Just once. And, why were you talking to Sarah about Chloe? You barely say a word to me about anything.”

“What?” Scott asked. “I don’t even know Chloe. And I don’t talk to Sarah about anything except business.” His eyes were still fixed on the TV.

“Well, I didn’t say anything to her.”

Kat paused then, doubting herself. Had she described Chloe to Sarah? She had talked to Brooke. Or had she? She could be confused. She was so forgetful these days, so unfocused, somehow things just slipped away from her, out of her grasp. Scott had never seen Chloe. How could he describe her?

Unsettled now, crossing the room to stand in front of Scott, she felt a seismic shift, as if the floor were not quite steady beneath her feet.

“But you were out at Malibu, weren’t you? Please don’t lie to me, Scott, for God’s sake. Ever.”

He looked at her directly at last.

“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. It’s just been one hell of a day. I wasn’t thinking.”

“In the future—please think.”

NINETEEN

S
arah’s promised phone call came the next morning. Scott had left for work early, and Kat, resolving to tidy up the neglected house, had just dragged out the vacuum cleaner.

“Now, are you ready for some news?” Sarah asked, a pulse of excitement audible in her voice. “Some really good news?”

“Yes. I was hoping you would call and explain. I’ve been wondering.”

“Well, I wanted to be sure. But there’s a young woman, five months pregnant, who might agree to you both. I haven’t talked to her myself yet, but Liz Brady has.”

“What?” Kat said. “She’s pregnant now?”

“Yes. Perfect match for you. Teenager. Accepted at Stanford. Doesn’t want to give up her scholarship. Doesn’t want a baby. She’s Catholic. I don’t have details about the father—she refuses to give them—but I assume he’s a student also.”

“But she might change her mind?”

“Well, that’s a risk you’ll have to take. But no, I don’t think so. She seems very determined. And smart. Educated. A really good fit,” Sarah said, clearly delighted at having found so good a match.

“What about her parents? Maybe they’ll want to take the baby.”

“No chance of that. Her mother’s dead. Her father’s some high-ranking oncologist. She’s planning to follow in his footsteps.”

Kat, barely able to breathe, struggled to speak.

“And she’ll agree to us?”

“I’m absolutely certain I can persuade her.”

“Five months?”

“Yes. That gives you time to convince Scott. He’s still unsure?”

“Yes. But—maybe, maybe if I tell him about this girl—”

“He can’t possibly say no, Kat. This young woman is perfect! I’ll send you details. You must get that paper signed now, though. At least get the application in so that she doesn’t sign up with someone else. Tell Scott there’ll be opportunity later to change his mind. But just to sign the darned paper. Now.”

Sarah waited as Kat struggled to take this in.

“Oh God, I hope, I—”

“She’s so right for you, Kat,” Sarah said. “A musician, too. Can you believe that? Clarinetist in the school orchestra. Doesn’t mean the baby will be musical, of course, but chances are . . .”

Kat let out her breath.

“Oh God. She sounds wonderful. Have you seen a picture?”

“Yes. I’m looking at it right now, in fact. Right here on my screen.”

“Don’t suppose you could—?”

“You haven’t signed anything yet, Kat. That would be absolutely against the rules.”

Kat sighed.

“Of course. I understand.”

“But when have I ever followed rules?” Sarah asked, laughing. “Check your e-mail. But—please. Make sure Scott signs. Tonight.”

“Oh God, I hope he agrees!”

“He will. Of course he will. Have some faith in him, Kat. Trust that he loves you.”

Kat raced to get her laptop, waited, tapping her foot, while it loaded up, and then she clicked on to e-mails. Yes, there was one from Sarah. With an attachment. A photograph.

She stared for a long time at the picture: a young girl with freckles, blue eyes, curly fair hair tied back from her face. A serious young woman.

Kat sank back onto the sofa, her knees weak. “Oh, Scott. Please, please,” she whispered. “Please say yes.”

Kat cleaned the house in a fog of alternating fear and soaring hope. Scott must agree to this plan. He must, he must. And if he did . . . Right now, at this very second, a child was growing. A tiny bean at this point, but a growing child. A baby.

The house sparkled by midafternoon. Kat pulled out steaks from the freezer; she baked potatoes, prepared an elaborate salad, and then opened a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses.

Scott, swinging in from work, placed his briefcase on the armchair, surveyed the carefully set table, and took a swallow of his wine.

“Hey, this looks good. And I’m starving.”

He had taken only one bite of his steak when Kat, unable to hold back the words any longer, told him of the pregnant teenager who wanted to have her baby adopted.

“We have to sign the application, that’s all. We have months to get used to the idea.”

Scott placed his fork down and very slowly pushed his plate away, his eyes never leaving her face.

“No,” he said. “I’m sorry, Kat, but no.”

His voice was quiet, sad. There was no irritation in it. Kat sat back in her chair, trying to remain calm.

“Why not?”

“There are a million reasons why not,” Scott said. “But I really don’t want to go ’round in circles with you again.”

“You don’t want to discuss it?”

“What is there to discuss? We talked about it before.”

“We talked about getting tested. About trying for our own child. We talked vaguely about adoption. We didn’t talk seriously about adopting a particular baby. A baby who would be a really good fit for us. Perfect, in fact. You’re just going to dismiss it out of hand, without talking about it properly? Without even thinking about it?”

“Kat, I
have
thought about it. Because it’s been pretty clear that this was where you were headed.”

Kat stared. Clear to whom?

“That’s not true. How can you know that?”

Scott pushed his chair back, as if he was leaving the table.

“It doesn’t actually matter what I want, though. Does it?” Kat added.

He shook his head. His mouth tightened; she could see annoyance building in him.

“Seems to me you’re unconcerned with my feelings. Listen, Kat. No adoption agency would agree to parents who are still grieving for a child they’ve so recently lost. It’s not fair to the adopted child or to the parents. It’s not possible. You have to accept that.”

“It is possible. I’ve checked—”

“Bullshit. Maybe in a year or so.”

“In a year or so? Why not ten? Or twenty? Why not wait until you retire? We can be the two old codgers, waiting at the school gates. Won’t interfere with your work then.”

“This has nothing to do with work! Taking on a stranger’s child, beginning again with broken nights and all that worry and work for a stranger’s child? No. Sorry, but I won’t do it. And I don’t want you to continue thinking about it.”

He began eating again, not looking at her.

Kat sat rigidly still at the table, watching him.

“We’ll have a few months to think about it some more. Then, well, surely you’ll feel differently?”

“No. I won’t. Ask me again in a year or two.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yes. This discussion is premature, Kat. Really. Wait a couple of years. Then, maybe we can foster a child. Just see how it—”

“No! No. That’s not what I want. We can look after an infant. Bring him up from the very beginning and care for him and give him a good life. We can!”

“
Him?
You’ve already decided the child must be a male?”

He stood then, pushing his plate away, the meal abandoned. Kat continued talking stubbornly, willing him to stay in the room and listen to her.

“No. No. Of course not. He or she. It doesn’t matter. But look, Scott. We have space now. Money. We were in a one-bedroom apartment when Chris was a baby, and of course it was tough. But we have a bigger house now. You won’t be disturbed at night, I promise. I’ll do the night feeds. I’ll move the baby over to the other side of the house so you won’t be disturbed. You can work as late as you do now. Work as late as you like. A baby won’t interrupt your life at all, I promise.”

Scott gave a long sigh.

“Listen to yourself. How healthy is that? For you or the child? Kat, please. This is totally irrational.”

Kat stood, ran upstairs to the bedroom, slamming the door. Scott was behind her only seconds later, pulling her close.

“Stop. Stop it. You have to deal with realities. Okay? Not fantasies. Not conjecture.”

“Spoken like a true lawyer.”

He took a deep breath.

“You have to get yourself together first. You have to start to heal.”

She pushed him away.

“Heal? Shit. You’ve been talking to Maggie. You’ll be talking about
closure
next.”

“I just don’t think you need more stress in your life.”

“Is that how you see a child? Just a lot of stress?”

“You don’t need this, Kat.”

She shrugged.

“And you know what I need?”

He moved to the window and stared out into the garden. It was a clear night, the Santa Susana Mountains visible in the distance. Kat waited. At last, he turned from the window.

“I can’t talk about this now, Kat,” he said. He regarded her steadily. There was no warmth in his eyes. “We’ll talk again at another point.”

He turned, walked out of the bedroom. Minutes later, she heard the clink of the wine bottle and glass. He was pouring himself another drink.

Kat called Sarah as soon as the door to Scott’s den closed.

“Oh no. Surely not,” Sarah said. “How can you bear it? And there’s no persuading him?”

“No. Not right now,” Kat said, a tremor in her voice, tears close to the surface. “He might talk about it again sometime. But not now.”

“Oh, Caitlin. Well, I’m so, so sorry, but this girl won’t wait. How devastating for you. This must hurt terribly.”

“I don’t know what else I can do.”

“It’s hard. He
is
a lawyer. He has that nitpicky legal mind. I never dreamt he would be so intransigent. But look, all things are possible. I could ask Liz Brady to keep your file open. In case he changes his mind.”

“He won’t change his mind.”

“Don’t give up. Please.”

“But how can they do that? Keep the file open?”

“If I tell them to do it, then they’ll do it.”

Sarah paused, thinking.

“You must try to persuade him,” she said eventually. “Try to tread softly, perhaps. Not force him into anything. But I’m certain when he understands how badly you want it, he’ll reconsider. He loves you, Kat. He must want you to be happy.”

“Don’t know about that.”

“Of course he does,” Sarah said. “Try to build a bridge. Anyway, I know this is probably the last thing you feel like doing right now, but I wanted to ask you about visiting my Malibu house. A partner from Milan will be here. We may merge a couple of subsidiaries.”

“It’s a business thing? No. I don’t—”

“He’s only here for one evening and he’s fun and interesting. It will be drinks by the pool, just a few minutes of business talk with Scott. And Glenda, of course. I wish you would come, Kat. I really do.”

“I’d really rather not. Scott and I at the moment, well—”

“It would be a new client for Scott,” Sarah said softly. “He will definitely appreciate it.”

“Ah. I see.”

“So? You’ll come? Please come.”

“Maybe,” Kat said.

Kat ate a sandwich before Scott returned from work the following evening, set the table for one person, and served him a simple grilled chicken breast and fries. Scott looked at her over his eyeglasses.

“You’re not eating?”

“I ate earlier. I wasn’t sure if you would be late. Again.”

Scott shook his head, said nothing more, and ate the meal while reading the newspaper. Afterward, he stood, placed his plate in the dishwasher, and turned to her.

“Sarah has invited us out to Malibu,” he said.

“Oh, really,” Kat said coldly. “Why?”