Redemption (10 page)

“How about if we sent her a video of our store, showing the layout and the architectural features that make Kaslow’s unique? That would surely convince her that we have a location worthy of her presence.”

Monsieur Lemond looked doubtful. “But I do not have time to make such a video, unless you already have something?”

Claire gave him a tight smile. “I think I can get something. You’re leaving this afternoon?”

“Yes, for New York. I’m meeting with the representatives from Bloomingdale’s.”

“I’ll have something in your hands by then,” she promised, crossing her fingers underneath the table.

On the way back to her office, she cursed her own impulsiveness. There was no way she could have someone professionally document the highlights of Kaslow’s, not in time to sway Monsieur Lemond before Bloomingdale’s pitch. But a video already existed, one created by someone more experienced in these things than anyone she could find on short notice.

She couldn’t call Matt. That was out of the question. However, she mused, stepping into the elevator, she could have Joan phone Marty Baker. Several times he had phoned her office to discuss details, and Joan had eagerly taken care of his requests.

And of course, she would offer to pay.

Hopefully the video would be enough to convince Mme. Bendel that she had to have her product sold exclusively in Kaslow’s. And, if it spurred a visit from the reclusive perfumier…Claire gave an inward shrug. For that coup, she would get on her knees in front of the goddess of Fortune herself.

An hour later, she picked up the phone to hear Matt’s voice.

“I hear you want a favor.”

“Yes, if you still have the video that Marty made.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I’ve got it. At least, Karen has. She’s the production designer.”

There was a moment of silence over the line, and Claire couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t exactly agreed that she could have it. “I told Marty we would be happy to pay whatever it would cost to have a DVD copied. It would be great if I could get it by this afternoon.”

“Oh, I imagine that could be arranged,” he said, and this time she was positive of the note in his voice: The other shoe had yet to drop, and when it did, she was pretty sure he would make her pay for sticking it to him during their previous negotiations.

She sighed. “Okay, how much do you want?” she asked bluntly.

He laughed. “I’m wounded, Claire. You actually think I would be so petty?”

“Sure. If the shoe were on the other foot…”

“You mean you wouldn’t hesitate to screw me—figuratively, of course.”

She gave a hard laugh. “I won’t answer that. Just tell me, can I have the video? As I said, the store would be happy to reimburse you for expenses.”

“I’ll give it to you,” he said. “This afternoon. On one condition.”

She waited.

“I want you to come by my trailer and pick it up.”

She swallowed an exasperated groan. “That would be foolish. I can have someone deliver it and save us both the trouble.”

“Forget it. I want to talk to you, in person. And lunchtime is good for me.”

“That’s—it’s—out of the question.”

He upped the ante. “Did I happen to mention our footage was shot with a high-definition, stereoscopic 3D infrared recording which made up for the low light?”

“I’m sure it’s adequate.”

“We’ve also got some great stills I’ll throw in as extra incentive.”

“That’s very tempting, but I can’t—”

“You know,” he mused aloud, “as soon as I saw what a classy operation Kaslow’s was—on film, anyway—I knew no other place would do.”

Claire sighed. “Look, I’m sure you’ll agree it would serve no purpose for us to meet.”

“Wrong. There’s a lot we need to talk about, things you should have heard a long time ago. All I want is to sit down and talk. Get some things off my chest.”

“Then call a shrink. I really don’t have time for this.” She fingered the trackpad on her desk, bringing up the spreadsheet she’d been adjusting, an estimate of the sales the Bendel account would bring in.

“Twenty minutes. That’s all I want,” he cajoled. Then his voice hardened. “I mean it, Claire. I want to see you. For your sake as well as mine.” She heard him sigh. “For a long time, I felt guilty as hell about what happened, and I knew all the facts. I can’t help but believe you felt the same way.”

“I’ve put it behind me. And I suggest you do as well.”

“No, you haven’t, and for the same reason I’ve never been able to forget. You feel responsible, just like I did. And I had more information than you, knowledge about what caused Hayley’s death. Information the public never found out. I think it’s time you heard for yourself what she was going through, why she turned that gun on herself—”

“I have no desire to hear anything about that day.” Claire clenched the phone, resisting the urge to toss it across the room. “It can’t possibly do anyone any good to rehash the event.”

“Ever heard the expression ‘The truth shall set you free’?”

“I consider myself perfectly free, at least, as long as no one here realizes who I—was.”

“Somehow, you don’t strike me as the type to ignore unfinished business.”

“Oh, our business was finished, all right.” A bitter note crept into her voice as she eyed the photo frame on her desk. Reason number one, she reminded herself, why their business had to be finished, before anyone else was hurt.

“I disagree,” he said firmly. “I think you need to hear what I’ve got to say. You deserve to know all the extenuating circumstances, circumstances that had nothing to do with either of us. Meet me somewhere, anywhere—”

“No. I can’t.”

He sighed. “Claire, believe me, I wouldn’t drag this up if I didn’t think there was good reason. I was eaten up with guilt, at first, for what happened. It was a long time before I could live with myself, at least in a sober state. I have to believe you had a few pangs of guilt yourself—or else you’re as cold as you’d like everyone to believe.”

She refused to let him goad her. “I’ve dealt with it, Matt, a long time ago.”

“I have a meeting with Karen at Kaslow’s tomorrow afternoon. We could have dinner later, wherever—”

“I’m not meeting you anywhere. I told you.”

“Scared?” he taunted her softly.

“Of course not. I simply see no need for us to meet.”

“Then do it for me.” His voice warmed with persuasion. “There are some things I need to unload, so to speak. I thought I had it all worked out, but since seeing you that day, I’ve been—” He paused, and Claire heard him sigh. “Hell, I don’t know. I just think if I fill you in on all the facts, we both might be able to finally put it all behind us.”

Even over the phone, Claire could hear the scarred-over hurt in his voice. She reminded herself that whatever pain and anguish she had endured, his must have been much worse. Even after ten years, it had obviously not completely diminished.

When she spoke, her voice was softer. “Oh, Matt, there’s no reason for you to still feel guilty over what happened. We were both young. And impetuous.”

“I told you, I don’t feel guilty—at least not about what happened to Hayley. It’s you, Claire. You got the short end of the stick. And unless I’m way off base, I think that experience changed you. You’re different now, and I think the treatment you had at the hands of the press was partly responsible. I’m to blame for some of that. I could have said something, cleared you of any blame, but I kept my mouth shut.”

She wanted him to stop talking, stop dredging up memories best left buried, but he seemed to have some need to make up for the ten-year-old hurt.

“And I
was
the one who talked you into that nude scene, remember?”

“I was old enough to know what I was doing. I don’t blame you for that, if that’s what you want to hear.”

“No. This is about what I want you to hear, things you need to know.” Then he changed tactics. “Listen, I can be pretty persistent, or so I’ve been told often enough, and I’ve got six more weeks to hound you. All you have to do is give me an hour or so. You can pick the time, the place.”

She sighed. Dealing with persistent males was becoming her specialty. Sometimes it was best to give them what they wanted, she told herself, and at least this wouldn’t involve millions in cash the store couldn’t afford. And maybe if she gave him an opportunity to ease his conscience, he would keep his distance.

“All right,” she agreed reluctantly. “I’ll meet you tomorrow.” She thought for a minute. His presence at the store could easily be explained, and as point person for the project, she had the perfect excuse if they were seen together. “How about the theater? It’s on the eighth floor, behind Floor Coverings. No one will be there; it’s been closed off due to renovations. If you’re spotted, no one will think anything.”

“Sounds good,” he agreed. “And the DVD’s on its way. You should have it any minute now.”

Claire hung up the phone. By now she should have realized: Matt was as incapable of holding a grudge as he was of flying to the moon. Whatever else he could be accused of, he always played fair.

But of course, he had no idea just how seriously she had wronged him.

Chapter Seven

S
NOWFLAKES
L
ANDED
O
N
T
HE
W
INDSHIELD
of Claire’s Volvo, reminding her of the crocheted doilies that had been scattered about her grandmother’s house in Oklahoma. The windshield wipers made determined passes at them, while from the radio, the local weather report promised Delaware Valley residents six to ten inches, the first significant snowfall of the year. Fortunately, Claire thought as she negotiated the slick roadway, the association fees at her condo development included snow removal.

Beside her, Tripper peered out the window, cheering on the flakes that were rapidly covering the ground. “Hey, Mom, do you think I could make a snow fort?”

“If it snows much longer, I imagine you could make an igloo,” Claire replied, glancing over at him at as she turned into their drive. School would likely be closed tomorrow. She would call Estelle, the housekeeper she had hired for occasional babysitting as well as housework, and see if she could spend the day with Tripper.

“David says he made a really cool fort in his backyard last year when it snowed. Could I stay with him if school is closed tomorrow?”

“I’ll give Estelle a call. If she can’t come, we might consider it.”

“Hey, can we make snow ice cream for dessert? I bet David’s mom knows how.”

“I’m sure she does.” Claire smiled at the additional plug for David’s house. Her son could be relentless when he wanted something—like someone else she’d dealt with today.

But she wouldn’t let thoughts of Matt occupy her now. She had already resolved to deal with that issue later, after Tripper had gone to bed and she had a warm cup of tea. She pulled the car into the garage and got out.

Briefcase in one hand, she picked her way to the mailbox and retrieved the mail, grateful she’d had the foresight to wear boots that morning. Coming back up the drive, she pretended not to see Tripper duck behind the corner of the house. When the snowball hit her shoulder, she obligingly let out a surprised cry. Then she wedged her briefcase between her knees, scooped up a handful of ammunition, and returned fire.

Minutes later, the impromptu snowball fight ended when Claire held up her hands in surrender, laughing as she cried, “Uncle!”

“Rematch this weekend,” she promised as they walked toward the door. “Provided the temperatures remain low, like the Weather Channel predicts.”

Inside, Tripper tossed his backpack on the table and raced out the door again before Claire could even remove her coat. Wishing she could stay home with him herself tomorrow, she reached for the phone and rang the housekeeper.

Estelle was apologetic between sniffles. A severe cold had her “laid up.”

Torn, Claire hesitated before calling Mrs. McCall, David’s mom. Candace was already watching Tripper on Friday, when school was cancelled for a teacher in-service. And she had agreed to drive the boys to basketball practice after school. She hated to ask for another favor. But rescheduling her meetings would be difficult, and she knew Tripper would prefer to spend the day with his friend. Maybe she could thank her later with something from the store, like a basket of gourmet food items or a gift certificate to the spa.

She dialed their number and soon had arranged for Tripper to spend the day with David. Before she could hang up, she had to endure Candace’s excited chatter. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard. Matt Grayson filming a movie at Kaslow’s, of all places!” she gushed. “I saw him in
Jungle Fever
last week. Tell me, is he as gorgeous in real life?”

That was something Claire had tried not to notice, but, doubting Candace would buy that, she settled on a noncommittal answer before hanging up. The reminder of the public’s obsession with celebrity made her grateful once again that she had managed to shield her son from the effects.