Lost and Found (14 page)

Stanford grunted. “Like right after the old bitch drowned, you mean.”

Randall shrugged. “Apparently.”

“Well, well, well. Isn’t that interesting?”

Stanford adjusted his grip and widened his stance slightly. He swung the club, hard and fast. Randall watched the trajectory of the ball with morose satisfaction. The small sphere traveled in an arc that veered sharply to the right. It landed, bounced and rolled into some high grass at the edge of the manicured fairway. Stanford had a pronounced tendency to slice the ball.

“What’s interesting about it?” Randall asked.

“The timing of it all.” Stanford walked to the back of the cart and thrust the driver into his bag. “Obviously this Mack Easton knows an opportunity when he sees it.”

Randall moved forward to address his own ball. “You’re implying that he asked her to marry him
after
he discovered that she had inherited those shares in Chatelaine’s?”

“That sure as hell is what it looks like to me. Damn. Just like that old bitch Vesta to complicate things by leaving those shares to Cady. What the hell was she thinking?”

Randall tuned out the conversation long enough to take his swing. He felt the sweet, solid sensation on impact that signaled a good drive. He straightened and watched the ball fly down the middle of the fairway. Satisfied, he turned and went back to the cart.

Stanford did not congratulate him on the drive. He sat in the cart and stared straight ahead stone-faced toward the distant green, as if he hadn’t even noticed the near-perfect shot. Randall smiled coldly to himself and dropped his club in the bag. Stanford hated the fact that his stepson was the better player. Randall was pretty sure that the bastard would rather do anything than play with him.

But it was Stanford who insisted on the occasional rounds of golf together because he felt it cemented the image of unity at the top of Austrey-Post. And that was crucial because they both knew that Austrey-Post needed Randall.

It was Randall’s social connections, inherited from his grandparents and his mother, that allowed him to secure the important consignments. It was the prestigious collections of art and antiques from the right clients, sold in turn to the right collectors, that maintained Austrey-Post’s status in the world of art.

“Vesta always hoped that Cady would one day change her mind and decide to join Sylvia at the helm of Chatelaine’s.” Randall climbed behind the wheel of the golf cart. “Everyone in the business knows that.”
That’s why you were so keen on me marrying Cady three years ago, you bastard. Don’t you remember?
he added silently.

“If you hadn’t screwed up on your honeymoon, we’d be looking at an entirely different situation now,” Stanford muttered. “I still can’t believe you were so lousy in bed that Cady filed for divorce nine days after the wedding. You must have been as limp as spaghetti.”

Randall said nothing. He knew that Stanford despised him. The feeling was mutual.

For some time now, Randall had been quietly grateful that his grandfather had taken steps to ensure that if anything ever happened to his grandson, his shares in the galleries would go to distant relatives, not to Stanford Felgrove. Randall sometimes wondered if he might not have suffered a convenient accident years ago if Stanford had seen his way clear to get his hands on the shares his stepson controlled.

But shortly before he died, the old man had finally understood that Jocelyn was probably going to kill herself with the booze. He had been too late to prevent control of the company from slipping into Felgrove’s clutches, but with the help of a good lawyer, he had been able to save forty-nine percent of the business for his grandson. Unfortunately, that left fifty-one percent in Stanford Felgrove’s hands.

But not for long, Randall thought, piloting the small
cart along the narrow path with one hand. Not if the merger with Chatelaine’s went through. There would be justice in the universe at last if the deal came together. He was so close now. Nothing could be allowed to get in the way. Surely Cady could be convinced of the importance of voting for the merger proposal. She would understand. She was like a sister to him. Which, of course, had been part of the problem in their short-lived marriage.

Three years ago everyone had agreed that a wedding between Randall and Cady made great sense. They had so much in common, after all. They had grown up together. Vesta had certainly been pleased. In all the time he had known her, Randall had never seen her closer to appearing genuinely happy than she had on the day he and Cady had taken their vows.

Stanford had been damn near ecstatic. Randall knew that it was because the bastard had seen the marriage as a way to get a toehold on Chatelaine’s.

The abrupt ending to the nine-day disaster had shocked everyone. He and Cady had put on a united front, explaining simply that they had realized they had made a huge mistake. Neither of them had ever told anyone the truth. As always, Cady had been a good friend to him in that regard, just as she had in every other way.

“This Easton is obviously a guy with his eye on the main chance,” Stanford said. “We should be able to do business with him. Make him understand that a merger will be profitable for all concerned.”

Randall brought the cart to a halt near the point where Stanford’s ball had vanished into the tall grass. “Has it occurred to you that Easton may have his own agenda? Or maybe he doesn’t even give a damn about the business angle. Maybe he wants to marry Cady because he’s in love with her.”

“Bullshit. No man in his right mind would fall for a woman like Cady Briggs. She gets more like her aunt
every day.” Stanford climbed out of the cart and selected a club. “The only reason Easton is nosing around Cady is because he’s got his eye on Chatelaine’s. Count on it.”

Randall watched him walk to the edge of the fairway. “You always assume that everyone is motivated by the same things that motivate you. That could be a mistake.”

Stanford poked about in the grass with the head of the club, searching for his ball. “I guarantee you that it’s no coincidence that this Easton is suddenly interested in marrying Cady. I know his kind.”

Because he reminds you of yourself, you s.o.b.? Randall mused. Does Easton make you think of how you took advantage of my mother when she was so deep into the bottle that she couldn’t understand what she was signing?

He turned his head, pretending not to notice when Stanford unobtrusively maneuvered the ball into a better position before he took his swing. This was the second reason why he hated playing golf with his stepfather, he thought. Stanford cheated.

“By the way,” Stanford said when he got back into the cart. “I hear George Langworth probably won’t live out the month. Word is getting out to the big galleries and auction houses that his collection will soon be up for grabs.”

Everyone in Phantom Point knew that George Langworth had been fighting cancer for three years. He was in his late seventies. Randall was not surprised that the information that George had very little time left had leaked beyond the boundaries of the small community. The Langworth collection of nineteenth-century art and antiques was world-class. It wasn’t just the auction houses and dealers who would be interested, Randall thought. Some of the major museums would also be hovering hopefully in the wings.

“I heard that one of the big houses sent a representative to talk to Brooke about her husband’s collection a couple
of days ago,” Stanford continued. “If you’re not already on top of that situation, you’d sure as hell better get there fast.”

Randall ignored that. He stopped the cart near the point where his own ball had landed and got out to select a club.

“Did you hear me?” Stanford said sharply. “There’s no excuse for losing the Langworth consignment. I don’t want one of the ambulance chasers from the other galleries talking Brooke Langworth out of that collection. You’ve got an in with her. You’ve worked with her on the Carnival Night committee for the past three years.”

Randall walked to where the ball lay on the sleekly mown grass. “I haven’t seen much of her lately. She had to resign from this year’s committee because of George’s poor health.”

“But you
know
her, damn it. Hell, for a while there, the two of you were an item.”

“That was four years ago, Stanford.”

Stanford grunted. “Before she dumped you to marry George and his money. I know. If you ask me, you got lucky. She had some good connections, I’ll grant you that, but at the time she didn’t have a dime to her name. The only reason she was interested in you was so that she could get herself a nice chunk of Austrey-Post. Be glad George came along and offered her an even better setup.”

Randall smiled grimly. Stanford didn’t have a clue, he thought. It was his interest in Austrey-Post that had made Brooke break off the relationship four years ago.
Obsessive
, she had called it.

“Point is,” Stanford continued, “George is not going to be around much longer. The way I hear it, his son and daughter will get most of the money through a trust. But Brooke gets that big house, the yacht and the antiques. She’s probably going to have to sell the collection to raise
the cash to pay the death taxes. You know the drill. Tell her we’ll take care of everything for her.”

Randall pretended not to hear the orders. He took the shot instead. It landed on the edge of the green. Perfect.

A short time later he dropped the ball into the cup with a single putt. He smiled slightly as he replaced the flag. He always won, in spite of Stanford’s cheating, and he knew it irritated the hell out of the bastard.

But the big win was still to come. He had been stunned by Stanford’s decision to approach Chatelaine’s about a merger, but he had immediately understood the incredible potential it represented. A glorious opportunity had fallen into his lap and he intended to take full advantage of it.

It was supremely gratifying to know that Stanford would be the architect of his own downfall. Felgrove was so fixated on the financial benefits of a link with Chatelaine’s that he had no clue to the fact that the deal contained the seeds of his own destruction.

He had been a long time avenging his mother and himself, Randall thought as he got back into the golf cart. But the chance had come at last. Nothing could be allowed to stand in the way of the merger.

A
sense of quiet pleasure went through Gardner Holgate as he watched his wife walk into the restaurant. They had been married for nearly a decade and had shared the joys and tribulations of raising their twin sons; but every time he saw her, he was struck anew by the wonder of it all. He had been a dull, boring nerd all through high school and college, the kind of guy girls teased and sometimes wanted as a friend, but not the sort they saw as romantic or exciting. Nothing had changed as far as he could see. He was an accountant—a CPA, after all. He spent his days burrowing through state and federal
tax codes and filling out arcane forms on a computer. He counseled clients who had been traumatized by letters from the IRS.

Sylvia, on the other hand, was polished and elegant, a tall, willowy blonde with serious, intelligent eyes and a natural flair for business. Her cousin Cady could discuss the rinceau motifs used in the decoration of sixteenth-century majolica dishes for hours on end, but Sylvia could design long-term corporate strategy. Cady could talk to clients about the influence of Renaissance theories of proportion on Regency craftsmen. Sylvia could chart five-year plans. What had he ever done to deserve a woman like this?

Sylvia spotted him and started toward him, tension in every step. She had been like this since the reading of Vesta’s will. It worried him. Discovering that Cady had inherited a controlling interest in Chatelaine’s had come as a shock to everyone, but most especially to Sylvia. Over the course of the past several years Vesta had groomed her to take over the firm. His wife had the instincts of a true business leader. Sharing power, even with a close cousin, was not going to be easy.

Vesta had been unpredictable right to the bitter end. Now her nieces were left to sort out the thorny question of who would control Chatelaine’s.

Sylvia gave him a wan smile as she approached the table. He rose, kissed her lightly on the cheek and held her chair for her.

“She’s bringing Mack Easton with her,” Sylvia announced as she took her seat. “He’s going to be staying at the villa. I think we have to assume that this relationship is serious.”

Gardner sat down across from her. “We are talking about Cady, I assume?”

“Of course we’re talking about Cady.” Sylvia snapped her napkin across her lap. “Who else? Aunt Vesta must be having a fit wherever she is.”

“Because Cady intends to install her fiancé in the villa? I know your aunt was a little old-fashioned about that kind of thing, but—”

“Not because Cady will be sleeping with Easton in the villa,” Sylvia interrupted impatiently. “Although you’re right, Vesta wouldn’t have approved. I’m talking about the fact that this man is obviously trying to take advantage of Cady.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Nothing else explains this sudden announcement of an impending engagement.”

He thought about it. “Wouldn’t be easy to take advantage of Cady. She’s a lot like you. Sharp and smart. Too sharp and too smart to get conned by a fast-talking gigolo.”

“Being sharp and smart doesn’t always protect you from falling for the wrong man. Just look at Leandra.”

“No offense, dear, but sometimes I have serious doubts that your cousin Leandra came from the Briggs family gene pool.”

“Leandra’s smart enough,” Sylvia said with instant family loyalty. “It’s just that she’s not an ambitious overachiever like Cady and me. Also, she’s a few years younger than us, remember. That makes a world of difference. She’ll mature one of these days. I think the fact that she’s dating Parker is a good sign, don’t you?”

“Probably.”

“I know that he’s a little old for her, but maybe that’s what she needs after Dillon. Someone settled and calm and thoughtful.”

“Everyone knew that she was making a big mistake with Dillon Spooner. It just took Leandra two years to figure it out for herself.”