The Philanthropist's Danse (3 page)

T
hree men strode from the conference room into the dining room, where Jeremy found them after seeing to his other guests. Junior Thurwell, Larry MacLean and Freddie Hagood were arguing when the major-domo entered the room. Junior’s voice was raised. “Larry, this is insane. You knew my father, why would he do this? To cut me out of a proper will is bad enough, but he did it to Phil and Beth too. And she was his fucking favorite.”

Larry muttered a response, but Junior was in no mood to be interrupted. “As for you, Freddie, what the fuck are you doing here? Dad hated you, and you returned the sentiment. It’s no secret the two of you would do anything to best the other, yet here you are, among the chosen few who’ll share his wealth. It’s bullshit. Whatever killed him must have taken his wits first.”

“Junior, your father was my oldest friend, if you talk about him that way, I’ll put you on your ass.”

Larry’s voice was thick with anger and grief as he growled at Junior, and the younger man became quiet. Jeremy took advantage of the awkward silence and stepped into view.

Junior flared at the servant. “What do you want?”

“Would the gentlemen care for some refreshments?” Jeremy kept his tone neutral, though he was faintly amused by Junior’s overdone outrage.

MacLean and Hagood ordered scotch and sandwiches, but Junior waved the major-domo away and refused to continue his conversation until Jeremy had left. As soon as the servant had departed, he approached MacLean with his eyes full of dark rage. “Don’t think you can talk to me like that, Larry, ever. My father might have tolerated your ignorance, but I won’t.”

He glared at MacLean and raised himself as tall as his stacked heels allowed, but Larry snorted. “Junior, you’re full of shit. You’re the biggest disappointment my poor friend ever suffered in his life. Don’t threaten me, son. You’re not man enough to back it up.”

Junior flushed deep scarlet and stared at MacLean for a long second before he turned and left the room with the rebuke ringing in his ears. He walked fast, looking neither right nor left until he reached his suite and slammed the door shut. He didn’t stop moving until he had circled the suite several times and felt his rage begin to ebb. His eyes were hot and wet. He hated that they welled with tears when he was enraged, it made him look weak.

Junior clawed off his expensive silk tie and poured a large slug of vodka into a glass with one hand as the other unsnapped his collar. He took an aggressive gulp and felt the satisfying burn of the liquor travel through his body. It warmed his body to his toes, but did not touch the cold heart that beat inside his chest.

Junior felt his calm return as a pleasant thought came to him.
I’m not Junior anymore. The Old Man is gone. I’m head of the family now. I’ll get what’s mine, and Larry MacLean can go to hell
. Junior looked at his reflection and tilted his head back. He believed that he looked taller in the pose. He would use the pose tomorrow. His self-confidence returned as he realized he would no longer have to live in his father’s shadow. A cold smile appeared on his face. Junior Thurwell hummed a happy tune, and danced slowly around the room in celebration of his father’s death.

$

Larry and Freddie sat in contemplative silence. The only acknowledgement of Junior’s sudden departure had been Freddie’s raised eyebrow. They faced each other in a couple of overstuffed wing chairs, neither willing to break the silence.

Jeremy returned with drinks and sandwiches and broke the mood. They exchanged small talk as they loaded their plates with food and enjoyed their host’s choice whisky. Eventually Freddie looked at MacLean and asked the question that vexed him. “What was Thurwell thinking that made him do this to his family? Why make them compete for his money? I can’t figure it out.”

Larry understood Hagood’s bewilderment. “I don’t know. It’s not what I’d have expected of Johnston.” His voice cracked as he mentioned his friend’s name. He was hurt that Thurwell had chosen to die alone. “I could have been here, if he’d just said something. You know, at the end. It’s bad enough for me, but Bethany? How must she feel?”

MacLean felt old, his friend was gone and yet here he was in the library drinking with Johnston’s arch-rival. Nothing made sense. Larry even felt some small sympathy for Junior. He had never warmed to the oldest son as much as he had to Bethany and her younger brother. He suddenly regretted his angry words with Junior and resolved to apologize when he next saw him.

Freddie Hagood was in a state of shock himself. He was well-used to meeting his rival at the mansion, though few people knew about their bi-annual rendezvous. In the City, they traveled in the same social circles and were both generous donors to charitable causes. Their well-publicized and bitter rivalry had appeared to the world as a blood sport, but, in fact, there was much that united the two magnates.

When William Bird had called last November to delay their scheduled year-end meeting, Freddie had thought nothing of it. When Bird called with the new invitation a week ago, Hagood assumed it was for the delayed meeting except Thurwell wanted up to a week of his time rather than the usual two days. Freddie had not expected to see a crowd when he arrived at the mansion and, like the others, had no idea his foremost rival was dead.

Something else, something personal, bothered Hagood and there was only one person he could discuss it with, Thurwell’s lawyer. Hagood would have to wait until he could get William Bird alone before he could find out how much danger he was in.

He looked at MacLean, who was deep in his own thoughts, and they exchanged glances. Hagood wondered if Larry had anything to fear from the tragic turn of events as he did, or was he simply grieving the unexpected loss of his beloved friend?

$

The conference room hummed with low conversation, but no one spoke at normal volume. It seemed appropriate to use hushed voices in the shadow of the dark news.

Caroline Smith had been transfixed since William Bird delivered the news that her boss was dead. By the time she realized what the news meant, Bird had left and most of the others were scattered throughout the mansion. Smith cursed, and looked for Junior, she should offer her condolences. He was likely to ascend to rule his father’s empire, and become her new boss. She saw him leave with two men, one of whom she recognized as Freddie Hagood. She calculated it would appear unseemly to chase after them. She’d have to wait and find Junior later.

Smith turned to an attractive older woman to her right who was dabbing her eyes with a tissue. They exchanged greetings, and Caroline tried to remember where she had heard the name Betty Freah before. She recalled Bethany’s loud disapproval at Betty’s appearance and her mind clicked facts and memories into place one by one until she found her answer.

Betty Freah had been the Old Man’s lover. Thurwell had not married a third time, he figured that two failed marriages were plenty enough emotional and financial pain for one man to endure. He was aware that his fortune was more attractive to women than he was, so Smith assumed he made an arrangement with Betty where she could never expect marriage.

Smith introduced herself, putting the usual emphasis on her title, Chief Executive Officer of the Thurwell Foundation. She never used the CEO abbreviation. She enjoyed the sound of her full title and the power it conveyed. She was taken aback when Betty Freah said simply. “I know who you are.”

Thoughts whirled through Smith’s mind. What did this woman know? Had Thurwell mentioned her in private moments? Had he been positive or negative? Smith had no way of knowing what the other woman knew about her from the expressionless face in front of her. Not knowing bothered Caroline Smith more than she cared to admit.

$

Betty Freah felt as if something had broken inside her when she heard William announce JT was gone. She had arrived at the mansion looking forward to some time with him but now she felt guilty about her selfishness. JT had promised he’d take care of her. He’d paid her handsomely for her services, and given her many expensive gifts over the past ten years.

William Bird had said that she and the others stood to gain a share in JT’s fortune, so he had kept his promise to take care of her. She regretted not having an opportunity to say goodbye, she had known him for more years than she had known any man. She had grown fond of her most loyal customer and the cruelty of his passing without a word to her stung. She had been comforting herself with private memories when Caroline Smith interrupted.

Thurwell had related stories to Betty about the crushingly ambitious Caroline Smith. He had not cared for Smith’s naked ambition, but he had appreciated her willingness to do whatever was necessary to run his Foundation. Betty had no use for women like Smith who never hesitated to judge her, so she made excuses and left.

Smith was not surprised when Freah took her leave, but she was wrong about the reason. In her own mind, Caroline Smith was simply too accomplished for other women to accept, they always felt threatened by her. She supposed that was why she got along better with men than women. They judged her on her abilities. In truth, if she had been able to read the minds of the men she credited with admiring her, she’d have been sorely disappointed.

Caroline saw Bethany and Philip in mutual consolation at one end of the table and the Elliots in a whispered conversation at the other. Smith didn’t like either option for company and instead walked to the window to see who would approach her first. Ten minutes later, she realized an uncomfortable truth and retired to her suite, angry at the ingrates who snubbed her.

$

Camille Jolivet watched Caroline leave. She had apparently been waiting for someone, yet no one had joined her. She was angry, but angry at whom? Camille filed the information away, even the smallest tidbit about a rival could prove useful at the right time. She considered another Gauloise, but decided instead to interrupt the odd couple opposite her. She smoothed her expensive clothes over her figure and noticed Philip take an interested peek. She smiled and moved over to the couple, exaggerating her walk to sway her shapely hips.

Janice Elliot ended her verbal assault on her husband as she saw the French woman approach them. “Not a word out of you, not one word. Until we know more, I don’t want to hear a goddamn peep, you understand?”

She turned away from her husband to greet the French girl, her tight expression breaking into a thin, unconvincing smile. “Hello. I’m Janice Elliot, Mr. Thurwell’s housekeeper from his Manhattan home.”

Camille sat next to Janice, noting that she made no attempt to bring the man into the conversation. They’re married, she realized. They had to be married. There was no mistaking the routine dismissal of her husband. Camille wondered why some men accepted being subjugated by their spouses, but since she despised weak men, she thought little of it as she introduced herself to Janice.

“How did you know Mr. Thurwell, Camille?” Janice was eager to discover why this foreign woman was included in the group. She was disappointed when Camille refused to say, even when pressed.

“I cannot say how I knew Monsieur Thurwell.” Camille refused to be drawn by questions, and while Janice knew the French girl was hiding everything about her relationship with Thurwell, she had no solution to Camille’s dogged refusal to answer. She changed the topic to discuss the other people in the room, a tactic designed to find out whom the girl may know or might admit to knowing. Her scheme was thwarted as it became clear that, with the sole exception of William Bird, Camille Jolivet had no prior acquaintances in the mansion.

Camille enjoyed the thrust and parry of the conversation. She sensed Janice’s curiosity and it pleased her to frustrate it. William Bird had always insisted she remain tight lipped about her real relationship with the philanthropist. Eventually, Camille grew tired of the questions and asked Janice a question of her own. “Do you know the quiet gentlemen beside you?”

Janice flushed. She had totally forgotten Dennis and hurriedly introduced him. “This is my husband, Dennis. He’s Mr. Thurwell’s manservant in the city.” He offered a hand as they greeted each other. Camille had briefly considered flirting with Dennis to annoy Janice, but his clammy hand made her shudder and turned her off the idea.

The two women engaged in a subtle conversational duel as they tried to figure each other out. Dennis was included in the conversation just frequently enough that he was forced to pay attention, but he preferred to drift into a comfortable numbness where he could contemplate his bleak future.

Dennis Elliot had not heard anything after the lawyer announced Mr. Thurwell had died. He was in shock. He had not understood what was to happen tomorrow, all he knew was that his boss was dead, and he was out of work. Right before the annual bonus was to be paid.

Dennis had been counting on his bonus, because he’d already spent it. Now he worried there may not even be a next paycheck and the thought terrified him. It would be much later in the evening before he learned from his wife that they would share in the Old Man’s wealth. For now, Dennis moped as he listened to his wife talk nonsense with a pretty French girl.

$

William locked away his laptop in the office safe. He had nothing else to do until morning. His guests would be dealing with the news of Thurwell’s death and the opportunity it presented them. He regretted that more guests would be interested in how much the Old Man had been worth than would grieve for his employer.

The lawyer could relax until the next session, or try to. While he felt some relief at having broken the news of the Old Man’s passing, it was overshadowed by the daunting task of steering the group through the
Danse
as they decided how to carve up the fortune. He feared the outcome would be messy and unpleasant. By the time it was over, William would be shocked at how optimistic even this gloomy prediction had been.

He checked everything was secure and switched off his lights. He would get an early night. If the others were wise, they would do the same. Tomorrow promised to be a long day.