Possessions (42 page)

Derek's mouth was a thin line. “Who the hell do you think you're talking to? I know developers; I was handling them while you were still kissing professors' asses in college. Nobody's clean, little brother. And all this fucking piety about the family corporation . . . you might show some piety about getting your family a chunk of your three-hundred-million-dollar
baby. Why didn't you call me at the beginning? We could have set up a front company to funnel contracts through, and a fund to pay off the bush-league politicians in Sacramento—”

“Why didn't you call me and suggest it?”

“Call you? Ask favors from you?”

“What are you here for now?” Ross asked evenly. There was a pause. “It doesn't matter. I wouldn't have done it; I don't work that way. But it wasn't—”

“Don't give me that choirboy bullshit—!”

“Derek.” Ross's voice was low but it cut through the room. “We're in my territory, not yours.”

There was another silence, long enough for Ross to reflect that it had been more years than he could remember since he and his brother had argued. In the past, when Derek charged like a bull, accusing or attacking, Ross had retreated—once as far as New York—reluctant to confront him, revolted by his tactics. But something had changed. BayBridge, he thought; giving me a sense of what I can achieve. And Melanie; forcing me to be alone, and find out who I really am. He leaned against the wall, contemplating his brother's rigid face. “The decisions on contractors for BayBridge were never up to me. The developers made it their game, their baby—not yours, not mine. And they decided to award the Hayward Corporation the contract for the parking lot and deck; nothing else. They didn't ask me; they told me. Whatever you heard, that's the way it was.”

Derek was silent, the muscle beside his eye pulsing in the smooth mask of his face. “What about Brock Galvez? Didn't he have anything to say to your brave band of developers?”

“A lot. He even suggested setting up a front company to funnel contracts through. He did his best. How much did you pay him? No, never mind; it doesn't matter.” A wave of revulsion swept through Ross and he turned to the windows, his back to his brother, watching the noon crowds gather with their lunches on the grassy knolls and benches of Levi Plaza. Galvez could buy and sell the Haywards; if Derek had bought him, it wouldn't have been with money, but services—drugs, sex, insider information—and Ross didn't want to know about them.

“If we're going to talk about payment,” said Derek softly,
“how much did you pay for advance information on BayBridge before you bought the Macklin Building?”

Ross turned. “I didn't know about BayBridge when I bought it.”

“Didn't know,” Derek mocked. “The way I heard it, you bought it in 1976 and didn't do a damn thing with it; even let Macklin keep his office space. And one year later developers begin buying land just behind it for a three-hundred-million-dollar development. Amazing coincidence—or someone selling information.” He waited, but Ross made no answer. “Why else would you buy it?” he demanded.

His brother was worried, Ross thought, about the Macklin Building. But he wasn't ready to talk to him about it. “I'll tell you someday. As for Galvez, he did his best for you; I suppose he'll go on trying. But he's not a fool; when he's outvoted he backs off and goes with the majority. And they're not about to bend.”

Derek nodded thoughtfully and turned to leave. Cutting his losses, Ross thought. He seldom made mistakes as serious as this—counting on one developer without gathering information on the others—but when he did, he didn't waste energy; like Galvez, he knew when to back off. Besides, after swallowing the bitter pill of coming to his brother to ask for help, he wouldn't stay a minute past the time he knew he had failed.

But at the door, Ross held him back, asking, before he could hold back the words, “How is Katherine?”

Imperceptibly, Derek's face changed, as if a thin cloud had passed over the sun. “Quite well.”

Ross waited. “And her jewelry? Is she selling through Mettler?”

“Yes.”

“Enough to make a living?”

There was a brief pause. “With an allowance.”

Their eyes met. It had not occurred to Ross that she was taking money from Derek.

“You should call her,” Derek said pleasantly. “Now that you live alone. She's extraordinarily accommodating.”

Ross drew in a sharp breath. “You crude bastard.”

“My, my, such sensitivity.” Derek smiled in cold amusement. “It must come from being cuckolded by a younger man.
Don't bother to see me out; I can find my way.” He strode through the reception room, and then was gone, his diminishing footsteps echoing on the wood floor of the corridor.

Ross was gripping the edge of his office door so tightly it left a ridge on his palm when he went back to his desk. Because no matter how much he thought he had changed, his brother still had the power to infuriate and frustrate him. Derek might have lost the round on BayBridge, but it was Ross who felt battered, even sullied, by the encounter.

Sitting at his desk, contemplating the paperwork demanding his attention, it was a long time before his muscles loosened and he could begin to relax. Because he knew it wasn't only Derek who was the source of his frustration. It was also Katherine, and as Ross turned to the piles of paper on his desk, he wished to hell he could forget her and concentrate on more important things.

*  *  *

When Katherine arrived, Victoria was supervising the packing of a dozen suitcases and garment bags. Dresses, skirts, and blouses lay everywhere in the white-and-gold bedroom like exhausted figures that had flung themselves on the wide bed and the silk loveseat and chaise to catch their breath. “Just look at it,” said Tobias, quoting wickedly.

“Dresses to sit in, and stand in and walk in;

Dresses to dance in and flirt in and talk in—

Dresses in which to do nothing at all.

Dear Victoria, do you or do you not have full closets awaiting you in France?”

“Most likely,” she said. “Though when one has not been there for a year, one cannot be sure of anything. Lily, may I have those?” The maid handed her two knit suits. “St. John and Castleberry,” she mused. “So very much alike. Why did I buy them both?”

“To support the knitting industry,” Tobias hazarded.

“I know nothing about the knitting industry, Tobias; as you are well aware, I must have had a reason, though I cannot imagine what it was. This is quite wasteful; Katherine, they're your size; please take one.”

“I'd love to,” Katherine said easily. “Thank you.” Once, she would have refused, instinctively, even rudely, thinking every offer of help was a criticism of Craig or of her own helplessness. But now, more confident of herself, she admired the superb cut of the two pale-blue skirts and cardigan jackets, and the silk blouse hanging beneath each one, and kissed Victoria's cheek. “I shall look quite elegant, thanks to you.”

“You always look quite elegant. But of course clothes do help. I have several other—”

“Victoria,” Tobias warned.

She gazed at him. “I do not flirt,” she said. “Where did you find that ridiculous poem?”

“In a book of forgotten poets. It amused Katherine; I saw her smile. We haven't seen you for a while, my dear. What have you been doing?”

“Working, and borrowing money,” Katherine said ruefully. “I didn't want to, but I was afraid of using the household money for buying gold and silver.”

“Well done,” Tobias declared. “Much better to borrow than use your own. Which bank?”

“The Bank of America.”

“Very solid.”

“But I used Mettler's order as collateral. If he doesn't buy the whole collection—”

“Katherine, you are better than you think you are. Always. If you remember that, you will age less rapidly.”

“Never worry about a loan, Katherine,” Victoria said peremptorily. “Until time to pay it back. What is this?” She took a long dress from a pile on the bed. “Satin. Why is it here? I would never wear a satin dress in Menton. The rest of the Riviera, perhaps, but I keep the villa in Menton precisely because it is unpretentious. And where is my black sweater with the pockets? Lily, this is not well organized. Come with me.”

As they disappeared into the dressing room, Tobias said cheerfully, “She has twenty sweaters in the bureau to the left of her bedroom door in Menton. After this summer, she will no doubt have thirty. Are you feeling melancholy, my dear?”

“About the loan? No—”

“I was not thinking of the loan.”

Katherine gave a little laugh. “It's not fair that you can read my mind, Tobias; I can't read yours.”

“Of course you can. Why do I think you might be melancholy?”

“You think I'd like to go to the unpretentious south of France and stay in my own villa and take side trips to Paris and the wine country and the Alps.”

“And wouldn't you?”

“Yes.”

“Quite right. I would be profoundly worried about you if you didn't. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing, Tobias; what can I do? I'll feel better when Victoria has left for her villa. I have plenty of work to keep me busy, and you'll be here to cheer me up; I won't brood all summer, if that's what you mean.”

“Of course you won't brood; you're not the type. I was simply wondering why you don't go to the south of France.”

“I cannot afford to go to the south of France.”

“True. But Victoria does not demand rent from her guests, and three airline tickets could be called an advance birthday present—your birthday is in August, is it not?”

“Three airline—? To France? To stay with Victoria? But she's never said a word about it.”

“Ah, but she has. To me. Since Christmas, she has fretted over how to ask you to join her in Menton. Why do you think she is going in July when her usual time is April and May? She waited until Todd and Jennifer were out of school. But still we kept debating how to ask you. Victoria is not timid, as you no doubt have noticed, but after your severe refusal last March of her offer to help your jewelry career, she tiptoes around you, wanting to give, but afraid to try. You are so fierce in your rejections, my dear. But just now you graciously accepted a knit suit and it occurred to me that you might accept a trip to France if I explained it carefully, which I have just done. Now, my dear, quickly, before you have time to think of obstacles: would you like to go to France with Victoria?”

“Of course I'd like it—I'd love it. I've never been there, I've never been anywhere in Europe. But how can we? I haven't made arrangements—”

“No obstacles allowed! Of course we should have asked you earlier, but each time we talked about it, we put it off. Two old people afraid of being turned down. But it's not complicated;
you don't need much time. Let me think. Passports. Are they current?”

Katherine shook her head. “We never traveled. And we didn't need them to move here . . .”

“Oh, dear, oh, dear. Well, we have friends in the government offices; we'll manage. What else? Your jewelry. You can work on designs in France and make the pieces when you return. You could stay quite a while and still accomplish that. Three weeks? Four? The children, of course, are out of school, and you said you would not be sending them to camp.”

She nodded.

“Yes?” Tobias asked.

“Yes, I'm not sending them to camp.” They laughed.

“And you told us some time ago you are no longer seeing Derek, so unless you have returned to him or found someone else—?”

“No.”

“Then there is not even a romance to keep you in the city.”

“Not even that,” Katherine said. “There's really nothing to keep me in the city.”
Except Craig.
The words were dark against Tobias' bright confidence.
If he comes looking for us, he'll find another empty house.
But excitement was running through her like quicksilver, and thinking of Craig only reminded her of the times, long ago, when she wanted to plan trips to Europe and Craig refused. He preferred trips in Canada, he said, though when she asked why, he gave no specific reasons. Now, suddenly, she understood why. He didn't have a passport. He couldn't get one without a birth certificate . . . and there was no birth certificate for Craig Fraser. I suppose he could have had one forged, Katherine thought. But perhaps he thought enough of his life was forged already. She felt a rush of pity for him. He wasn't free to travel about the world, and he couldn't explain that to me without telling the truth about himself. So there was one more secret, one more space between us . . .

“Nothing to keep you here,” Tobias was echoing with a gleeful smile and Katherine felt her excitement return as Victoria, who had been listening, came out of the dressing room, her arms filled with clothes, saying, “Of course, Katherine, you will want your blue jeans and your own casual things, but
I have far too many sweaters and shirts and all of them are perfect for you—” She stopped as Katherine and Tobias burst into renewed laughter. “As part of your birthday present,” she went on calmly. “I cannot imagine why you two should find that hilarious. Katherine, it will take a day or two for you to get passports, but after that, how soon can you come? You will fly to Nice; the limousine will meet you, and you and I will take a separate shopping trip to Paris. Did Tobias say four weeks?”

“Yes,” Katherine breathed. “But I'm not sure—”

“Four weeks sounds quite satisfactory. Can you be ready to leave in a week? July fifth. My dear”—Victoria laid her hand on Katherine's cheek—“forgive me if I seem a trifle autocratic; I am so very happy that you will let me give you this. It has been so long since there were young voices at the villa . . . We think we become self-sufficient and tough, but we never stop longing to share the things we love. Without it, we're only half-alive. How wonderful that you are coming!” She coughed and impatiently wiped her eyes. “Well, then”—briskly she turned back to the piles of clothes on the bed—“it's settled. Tobias will arrange for passports and three tickets for July fifth. Unless, of course, you have a serious objection—?”