Unrivaled (16 page)

Another Thursday evening, another concert. We passed all the grand houses in Portland Place on our way into the city. I wished I could be in one of those brightly lit drawing rooms instead of trapped inside the car, pushed up against the door, sitting beside my father.

“Who is it this evening, Augusta? The orchestra?” My father asked as if it didn’t really matter.

She gave him a sidelong glance as she drew the fur collar of her coat tighter about her neck. “The symphony.”

He chewed on his cigar for a moment. “Don’t see what the difference is. They both use the same instruments.”

“A symphony orchestra plays symphonies.”

“Hmph.” He bit down hard enough on his cigar to bite off the end. He spit it into his hand and looked around as if for some place to hide it.

I offered up my hand.

He dropped it into my palm without hardly moving. Maybe he was hoping that if he didn’t look at Augusta as he did it, she wouldn’t see him.

She did.

He was fumbling with his lighter. “So what are they playing?”

“Tonight’s is not a symphony concert.”

“Ah! So they’re
pretending
to be an orchestra.”

“They will be playing popular music.” She didn’t sound like she approved.

“So why don’t they call themselves an orchestra? Just for tonight?” He winked at me as he said it.

She was staring straight ahead. “Because they’re the
symphony
orchestra.”

“Don’t see why it makes such a difference.”

“Because it does.”

“Isn’t she something? She keeps track of all these things.” Father took the cigar out of his mouth and smacked a kiss onto her cheek.

She pushed him away, but in the glow of the streetlights, I saw a blush creep up her cheeks.

I tried to imagine my mother knowing about things like that, but I failed. Recognizing when a sock could be re-darned and when it should be thrown away; judging when meat could still be boiled and eaten or when it was too far gone; knowing when the rent could safely be put off another month or two. Those were the kind of skills required of a mother trying to raise three children on her own.

Maybe my father had needed a wife like Augusta in order to become successful at his candy factory. But couldn’t my mother have become that sort of woman if he’d given her half a chance? I snuck a peek at Augusta. I had to admit that she wasn’t a bad sort. Not really. It’s just that she wasn’t my mother.

The concert was like all the others I’d attended since I’d come to town.

Long.

And very loud.

The first part ended with those big booming drums. I hid a yawn behind my hand and then escorted Augusta to the refreshment area. My father went to the smoking room. I bought Augusta a glass of lemonade and stood by her side as she greeted the people I’d already come to know too well. After a while, I excused myself and wandered over to the concession where candy was being sold.

I bought two packages of Royal Taffy, since I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to bring my own. I was planning to eat them both, but then I saw Lucy Kendall.

She was standing at the far side of the lobby, that shiny sash looped over a shoulder. The Queen of Love and Beauty was holding court. And chief among her suitors was that blond man who had covered for my mistake about golf. I owed him a favor. What was his name? Alfred something. Or was it Arthur?

I walked by the group and caught his eye, giving him a look at the second Royal Taffy I’d bought, raising my brow.

He nodded at Lucy, excusing himself, and then he came over toward me.

I handed him the treat.

“I don’t usually eat candy, but it’s been such a long time. . . .” He tore the wrapper off and bit into it. Chewed for a moment before swallowing. “Thanks. You’re the Clarke son, aren’t you?”

“That’s me. Charles Clarke.”

“Alfred Arthur.” He held out his hand and I shook it. “I’d been meaning to catch you again. Say—why don’t you join me at the club next Thursday night for the candidates’ reception?”

Candidates . . . for what? I had no idea what he was talking about, but if it meant I could skip a concert, I guessed I should be delighted. That’s what all these rich fellows said.
I’d be delighted
. “Sure. Thanks.”

“Splendid. I’ll see you there, then. Around seven?” He tipped the Royal Taffy toward me by way of leaving.

I tipped my own right back.

“What were you saying to him?” The words came in a hiss from behind me.

I couldn’t help smiling as I turned. “Miss Kendall. What a pleasure.” I bowed. I was starting to get the hang of all this fancy talk and polite manners.

She didn’t smile back. In fact her eyes were shooting sparks at me. And her attention seemed to be caught by my hand, which still held the Royal Taffy. “I meant it, what I said at the air meet. I had no idea who you were. And I never planned to take anything from you.” Except for a kiss. I had wanted one of those.

“It doesn’t matter what you intended. What matters is . . . what is. You are a Clarke, and I am a Kendall.”

What matters is what is
. She was probably right. Greater than the difference between Clarkes and Kendalls was the difference between her upbringing and mine. If she were angry with me now, she’d never speak to me again if she ever found out the kind of man I’d been in Chicago. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. For everything.” For every hope, for every wish, for every dream I’d dreamed at night. Why did she have to be so pretty? And why did she have to be so easy to talk to . . . back before she knew who I was?

She looked pointedly at the candy I held in my hand. “Taffy is for children.”

Hadn’t I been trying to be nice? That was just plain mean.
“I seem to remember that you liked it well enough. You said it was your favorite.”

“I’ve changed my mind. And I’ve come to tell you to leave Mr. Alfred alone.”

I raised a brow. “Mr.
Alfred
? Don’t you mean Mr.
Arthur
?”

“I meant Alfred. Mr. Arthur. He asked me to call him Alfred. I was quite flattered.”

“If you say so. But isn’t he a little old for you?”

“I’ve always considered age an advantage. It brings maturity of both body and mind. Which are things I doubt you’ll ever possess.”

Behind her shoulder, I saw the woman I assumed to be her mother looking around the lobby. “You’d better . . .” I inclined my head in that direction.

“Just stop talking to him. And stay away from me.”

“I would, if you weren’t so set on finding me.”

She sent me an icy glare before sailing off in the other direction.

I couldn’t help smiling as I finished off my Royal Taffy. She sure had spirit. And I couldn’t much blame her for being mad at me. She was right, in a way. Though I had nothing against her family’s company, my father sure seemed to. And she was more right than she knew when she’d warned me to stay away. But I wished . . . I wished that we could talk again. The way we had back at the ball. But a man like me wouldn’t be good for her. And besides, a fellow couldn’t hope to keep any secrets hidden when a girl like her looked at him as if she could see down into his soul. But Mr. Arthur . . . Alfred . . . Lucy might be just the girl for him. Maybe she could loosen him up a little.

“I’ve changed my mind.” My father made the pronouncement as we were walking up the front steps into the house later that
evening. He drew me off into the parlor. “I’ve just had a—” he ran a hand through his hair— “a brilliant idea! About City Confectionery.”

“You’ve changed your mind?” Maybe I could tell Lucy she didn’t have to hate me after all.

“Well . . . not completely. I’ve decided that City Confectionery would be just the thing for you. Something manageable, something small for you to start off with.”

“I—? I don’t understand.”

“We’ll stick with what we planned. I’ll buy them out and we can be a father-and-son company. How do you like the sound of that?”

“I don’t know if—”

“I’ll give it to you.” He took a big puff on his cigar. “It’ll be all yours. What do you think?”

“You’re going to give it to me?” He was going to give me
Lucy’s
company?

“Why not? To make up for all those birthdays I missed. And besides, Christmas will be here soon, won’t it?” He patted me on the arm as he walked out of the room.

I followed in a daze. Father and son. In spite of how much I’d always sworn I hated him, he’d just offered me the gift I’d always longed for. He’d offered me even
more
than I had hoped for: He actually seemed to want to make up for lost time. He was ready to buy me the company just as soon as I could destroy it. Maybe I should have been grateful, but the only thing I could think of was Lucy. How I was being offered her dream . . . and how she’d murder me if she ever found out.

“We need more money.” As much as I’d thought about the company in the past few weeks, that’s what I couldn’t get around and always had to come back to. We didn’t have enough money.

Mother looked up from her table with a sigh. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. That’s why we need to sell the company.”

“I wonder . . . could we just borrow some?”

“Your father tried that very thing. That’s how we came to be in this position in the first place. He didn’t seem to understand that eventually you have to pay it all back. Now we have no Royal Taffy
and
we’re burdened with a pile of debt. If only he’d had some sense. I’ll never understand why he couldn’t just leave the business!”

“But have you tried borrowing any money
lately
?”

“Of course I have. Last year, just after you left for the Continent.”

“Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where did you try? Which bank?”

“Our bank. And they won’t consider extending a loan without your father’s consent. And he won’t admit to having failed again.”

“But it’s your money.”

“Yes, Lucy. I know that!” Exasperation had made her voice testy. “It’s
my
money, but according to them, it’s
his
company. You’ve had your chance. I’ve given you the time you requested. Now it’s my turn.”

“What about Aunt Margaret and Uncle Fred?”

“Absolutely not! I will not have my own sister throw our failure up in my face.”

I couldn’t imagine my aunt or uncle ever doing that. “You mean you haven’t even asked them?”

“No. And I never will.”

“But they wouldn’t mind. I know they wouldn’t. I could—”

“I
forbid
you
to do it.”

“But I don’t see why—”

“Because she has everything she’s ever wanted. She has everything
I
ever wanted! I would rather move down to South St. Louis than let her know how destitute we’ve become. It was bad enough that she was the one to take you to the Continent . . .”

“But what if I could find some money?”

“Find some? As if it’s hiding somewhere?” Mother sounded incredulous. “I’ll tell you where it all is. It’s tied up in the building and all the pots and the kettles and those huge piles of ingredients that your father only used once before discarding. It’s in the pockets of the people who aren’t buying Fancy Crunch because they’re buying Royal Taffy. That’s where you can find it.”

“But what if I could?”

“What if you could.” She threw up her arms. “If you can . . . if you can, then I suppose you can consider yourself the savior of the company.” She folded her hands atop the ledger book. “I
know you don’t want to hear this, but I’ve run out of alternatives. If we don’t sell soon, we may lose everything. As it stands now, I might still be able to preserve something. Waiting isn’t delaying the inevitable. It’s costing us. At the moment, I still have something to bargain with. The more we delay, the worse our position becomes.”

What she hadn’t said in all that was
no
. We needed money. Who did I know that had some?

Mr. Arthur.

Mr. Alfred Arthur with his big house on Westmoreland Place.

At some point I would have to marry someone, and Mother had already said that she wanted me to marry well. If someone had to marry Mr. Arthur and all his money, why shouldn’t it be me?

I didn’t really know him.

But I could get to know him.

I couldn’t really talk to him.

Perhaps I would learn to . . . given enough time.

I didn’t really like him.

But I didn’t
dis
like him. And besides, that had never stopped anyone I knew from marrying. Just look at Father and Mother.

Deep inside a worm of doubt began to squirm in my stomach and a little voice suggested that perhaps the better place to look for an example was to my aunt and uncle. Wouldn’t I rather have a marriage like theirs?

“In any case, finding money is neither here nor there.”

I jumped at Mother’s words, startled from my thoughts.

“The candidates’ reception is down at the club this evening. I don’t want us to be late.”

Me. She didn’t want
me
to be late. I didn’t see why I’d been invited at all. Sighing, I went upstairs to change into something suitable. Something proper. I found my new dove-gray dress with
its gored bodice and French lining. I liked the plaited flounce that flowed from the bottom of my hips toward the floor. The lacing at the yoke and sleeves was so singular that I hadn’t yet seen anything like it in the city. I drew it on and fastened it up. Then I repinned my hair, teasing some of the waves from the pins so they would curl around my face.

I took my new silk hat from its box and set it on my head as I smiled at myself in the mirror. I looked eminently respectable, completely proper, and wholly suited to be the wife of someone like Mr. Arthur.

But it still didn’t quiet that voice. And as hard as I tried, I couldn’t quite squash that worm.

As we entered the dining room of the club, Mother inclined her head toward the back of the room. Through the jostling of the crowd I could see Mr. Arthur. “Why don’t you go over and greet him? I’ll be along in a moment.”

My heart sunk straight to my toes. That meant that I would have to talk to him by myself, and I’d already used up the topic of Christmas, which ought to have been good for at least an evening’s worth of conversation. It wasn’t that he was so terrible a person. Really, he was terribly nice. It’s just that he was so . . . serious. And stolid. There wasn’t anything indecent or disreputable about him. I doubted he had ever once contemplated doing anything scandalous. I hadn’t either, of course, but it would nice to think he had the capacity to.

I girded up my courage as I approached and smiled at him as if he were the most fascinating man I’d ever had the pleasure to meet. “Good evening, Mr. . . . Arthur.” Had I chosen the right name? I cursed my schoolgirl games.

“Miss Kendall!” He shook the hand of the man he’d been
talking to and then he turned to me. “Good evening. But please, do call me Alfred.”

I might if I could remember it. As I stood there beside him, Mother came toward us and smiled at Mr. Arthur in greeting.

“I hope you won’t think me rude, dear ladies, but I invited someone to join us.”

Thank goodness! Maybe it would be someone I could talk to.

“He’s new to the city. Seems like a lively fellow.”

Even better.

“How kind you are, Mr. Arthur, to think of him.”

“There he is! Perhaps you know him.” He hailed someone with a salute. I fixed a Queen of Love and Beauty smile on my face in preparation of a greeting. I was determined this friend of Mr. Arthur’s would be my savior.

And then Charlie Clarke sauntered into view.

Mr. Arthur pumped his hand enthusiastically. “Good to see you, Charles. Thanks for coming.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.”

“Have you met the Kendalls, then?”

He smiled as he looked at me quizzically.

I gave my head the slightest of shakes.

“No. I haven’t had the pleasure of an introduction.”

“Well, then, Mrs. Kendall, Miss Kendall, may I present Mr. Charles Clarke.”

I glared at him. “Are you associated with the Standard Candy Manufacturing Clarkes?”

“I am, Miss Kendall. However did you guess?” He flashed a set of dimples as he smiled.

I’d dimple
him
, given half the chance!

“That’s right!” Mr. Arthur was beaming as if he had done us all a favor. “You’re both in the candy business. Must have a lot in common.”

Mother looked at Charlie in an apprising sort of way. “Mr. Clarke.” She held out a hand to him.

Traitor.

Charlie took it up and kissed it. He spouted some sort of nonsense that had Mother blushing and then turned his attention to me. “Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Kendall?”

I’d enjoy myself more if I could hit him over the head with one of those brass spittoons that sat in the corner of the room.

Mother patted me on the hand. “I think I’ll go find some punch.”

Mr. Arthur stood. “I’ll join you.” He bowed. “Would you care for some, Miss Kendall?”

“Yes. Thank you.” I waited until they were gone before I let my smile slide from my face.

Charlie had turned toward me. “I’ve been hoping for a chance to talk to you again.”

“Why? So you can tell me more lies?”

His brows crumpled. “It’s not like that, Lucy. I never intended to mislead you. It’s just that I never had the chance to really introduce myself. I was going to at the airfield, but by then it was too late.”

“And if you’d known then what you know now . . . ?”

He took up my hand. “Then I would have told you that you’re right not to trust my father for a second. I don’t. And I never have.”

I pulled my hand from his and wrapped it firmly around my handbag. “A lot of good that does us now! How would you feel if our positions were reversed?”

“Desperate. Angry. Frightened.”

He was so . . . so
right
that tears threatened to spill from my eyes.

“Do you think . . . is there any way we could still be friends?
You were the one person in this city I felt like I could really . . . talk to.”

And he was the one person in the city who had really seemed to understand how I felt about candy. The one person who didn’t try to talk me out of my ideas or try to convince me that girls shouldn’t be meddling in business. He looked so lonely and so hopeful standing there that I almost said yes. “I wish . . . I wish we could but . . .”

He closed his eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath. When he opened them and looked at me, it was with the profoundest regret in his eyes. “Don’t say any more. I know. I knew it when I first met you, that day you ran into me on Olive Street. Some things just don’t belong together.” He bowed and turned away and I had the oddest sensation. As if I’d lost something, something important, that I didn’t know how to get back.

“Wait!”

He stopped.

“I—” Couldn’t let him leave. Not like that. He was right in a way: Why should our fathers ruin what had been a blossoming friendship? I’d enjoyed his company. I would have enjoyed it still if I hadn’t known who he was. “I want you to know that if your father hadn’t stolen our company, then—”

He swung to face me. “He
didn’t
steal it.”

“He did.”

“He didn’t.”

Charlie seemed very certain about something of which he had no knowledge! “He stole the company and our candy.”

“No. He didn’t. There was an agreement between my father and yours.”

An agreement! “If there was an agreement, then why has my father always told me your father stole it from us?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”

“He’s always told me that because it’s the truth!”

“My father might not be the most trustworthy man in the world—”

I gave a most unladylike snort.

“And he might not have been exactly aboveboard in the things he’s done, but I don’t think he’d lie about this.”

“Apparently he has.”

There was a hesitation of indecision and a confusion in his eyes, but then it was replaced by a narrow-eyed stare. “I don’t think so. I think he’s telling the truth.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re wrong.”

Wrong! I grabbed at my handbag with both hands to keep from reaching out to strangle him. “I almost felt sorry for you a moment ago, but I’ve changed my mind. I hate you.”

His brows peaked, then dimples flickered in his cheeks as if he couldn’t decide whether to laugh. “Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings.”

“No, I haven’t. You don’t have any.”

“That’s not—”

“Stop talking to me
.
”

“You can’t—”

“Stop it!” Unfortunately, the words came out right as the band ended their song with a flourish. I feigned a spasm of coughing as Mr. Arthur returned with a glass of punch, which I didn’t want and didn’t need, but somehow had to manage to drink.

The candidates for office at the city and state level spoke for much longer than was necessary on issues like street paving and telephone taxes. Things that were extremely important and truly tedious. No wonder we were the only women in attendance, though none of the candidates failed to have his photograph taken while clasping my hand.

Afterward, Mr. Arthur collected our coats and helped us on with them. Then he escorted us to our waiting carriage. Charlie came along. Though I refused to speak to him, Mother stopped to thank him for his attentions that evening.

Charlie bowed.

“I think—” Mr. Arthur paused. “I think this was a most enjoyable occasion. I was going to ask Mrs. Kendall and her daughter to accompany me to a lecture next week. Perhaps you’d like to come as well, Charles.”

Charlie’s eyes rested on me for just a moment. “I think . . .” His lips twitched. “I think I’d like that.”