Chasing the Wind (11 page)

The very last thing in the world she could afford right now was to become emotionally involved with this family.

As soon as the Black Diamond
financial closing was over, Robert insisted, the agents would begin their work purchasing the Marigny properties. Bingham had a hard time convincing him to wait until the day after Thanksgiving. In the end, he'd had to issue an order to that effect. Otherwise, Robert would have charged right on. The kid would make a good CEO after the closing, but until then, he needed to understand who was in charge.

Robert sat beside him now in the Mangen & Morris conference room in a cloud of smoke. Bingham watched as he lit one Lucky Strike after the other while working his way through the first draft of the construction contract. Adam Grayson sat beside him, answering questions.

Bingham turned his attention to the blueprints of the target area spread out before him and covering the entire end of the conference table. Spidery lines outlined the properties to be purchased and demolished within the doomed triangle of the Marigny. He smiled to himself surveying the asterisks and numbers, curves, triangles and squares on the paper, and the lighter transparent overlay showing the locations of the future hotel, its grounds, and even the landscaping.

Just then the door swung open and Raymond walked in, followed by Amalise, both carrying an armload of documents. They deposited the papers at the other end of the conference table and then pulled out chairs and sat.

"Quite a load you've got there," Bingham said, eyeing the pile and hoping the papers weren't for him.

Amalise Catoir, the widow, merely smiled and gave him a little nod. Bingham dropped his eyes and tapped his fingers on the table, wondering how they'd managed to gin up so much paperwork in the past few days. Lawyers were such bores. He wished he were back in Cayman right now, sitting on the beach under a red-striped umbrella and sipping margaritas. Or flying, soaring free through the clouds to anywhere with sunshine and fresh air. He heaved a sigh and shook his head, glancing back at the stacks of paper. A necessary evil, like Robert, he mused.

Raymond caught his eye and let out a sympathetic laugh.

"I'm glad you bill by the hour and not the word." Bingham's tone was dry.

"You should be happy about that," Robert muttered beside him. "Lawyers use ten words for every one that's needed."

Stifling a yawn, Bingham watched as Amalise and Raymond split the agreements between them and began reading, consulting each other and making notes in the margins, striking out lines and sometimes whole paragraphs. Bingham glanced at his watch and frowned. It was ten o'clock in the morning and already he was half asleep. Leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head, he took a long breath and coughed in Robert's smoke, which brought to mind the fresh scent of cypress and pine from back in the days. He thought of the clean, cold wind blowing inland from the churning sea and almost shivered.

Robert stubbed out the cigarette and put down the document he'd been reading. "Coffee's low," he said to Amalise. "We've been waiting a while."

Amalise looked up and cocked one brow.

"Get us some coffee, please," Robert said. "I take cream, sugar." He glanced behind him at the empty credenza. "Napkins. And we need some spoons." Before Amalise could reply, he turned to Bingham. "And some croissants or doughnuts. Are you hungry?"

From the corner of his eye, Bingham watched Amalise's eyes grow wide. But not another muscle in the young woman's face had moved. "No. I'll wait for lunch," Bingham said. Robert could be such an idiot. He seemed to lack even basic social skills.

Raymond pushed back his chair and rose. "I'll see what we can do. Amalise is busy here."

Amalise bent over the documents and went back to work.

Robert didn't seem to notice. He returned to his conversation with Adam, a discussion of whether to cut back some of the landscaping in favor of enlarging the parking area.

Bingham narrowed his eyes, watching his protégé. Tom had assured him that Robert was the man for the job, that if anyone could get this transaction done in the time frame Bingham demanded, it was Robert. Bingham knew he was probably right. But there'd be a price to pay because, in both business and social discourse, Robert lacked a filter most people learned to use as they matured. Then again, the kid pushed out bonds like they were free candy. And he worked well with the raucous trading desks—Salomon Brothers in New York, Milkin too—so what should he expect?

Still. He leaned close to Robert and whispered, "Get your own coffee next time, son."

Robert's chin jerked a fraction and he turned his head toward Bingham.

Ignoring him, Bingham pulled the survey over and traced the lines with his eyes. He'd keep Robert on a short leash, but Bingham had no illusions. Like the other investors Tom had brought in, Robert saw the opportunity down here: eye-popping revenues and inflated expenses, huge management fees, the tax-free skim, all tripling when casino gaming was inevitably approved. Project Black Diamond was Robert's big chance, and Bingham believed that right about now Robert was so hungry for this deal that he was capable of cannibalizing anyone getting in his way. Bingham couldn't recall ever having met a human being as purely driven by greed as young Robert.

Yes. He'd chosen the right man. Still, he was sorry for Robert's lack of social grace. Bingham studied Amalise from his end of the table. He liked the way she tackled problems, completely engrossed as she read, turning from one page to the next without looking up. She interested him.

Raymond returned with an electric coffee pot, accompanied by two young women carrying trays with cups and saucers, croissants from the deli downstairs, napkins, a few cold cans of Coca-Cola and Tab, and a bucket of ice. Robert stood, stretched, and sauntered toward the credenza.

Bingham looked down at the table again and gestured to Amalise. "Come take a look at the plans for the project. Have you seen this yet?"

With a look of surprise, she pushed her hair back behind her ears and sat up straight. "No, I haven't."

Standing, she walked over and stood behind him, looking over his shoulder at the blueprints. Beneath the translucent overlay she could see the survey lines of the properties to be purchased. She bent, watching as he traced the parameters of the triangular property, stopping just before the warehouses on the river.

"This area right here is where the hotel will face, looking out over the Quarter and the river." He moved his finger to the spot at the tip of the triangle. "Best view in town. And this"—he traced faint lines over the blocks where homes now stood—"this will be the entrance to the resort." He lifted the overlay and set it aside, revealing the survey of the properties underneath. "You see?"

He looked at her, and she nodded. He planted his finger on an area close to the river. "This is where the actual hotel will be. The rest is landscaping, gardens, terraces, two swimming pools, several fountains. It'll be nice."

"What about the park?"

"What park?"

She leaned down and pointed to a spot. "Right back here. Washington Square Park, just beyond this open area."

"Well, that borders on the parking lot—that open area." He touched a spot on the paper. Amalise was silent, and he glanced at her. "But the park won't be touched," he assured her. "We'll plant a hedge or some trees or something between the park and our lot."

Robert reappeared. Bingham sensed tension in the air as Amalise straightened and stood there while Robert took a chair on the other side of the table, facing Bingham.

Bingham looked at Robert. "How're you coming on the levee problem with the sewage and water board?"

"I'm working on that."

"Well get moving. Can we do something for them down in that area?" On the survey he placed his finger near the point where Elysian Fields and Esplanade met near the river. "Maybe donate a small strip at that end to the city for a walkway or park or something?"

Robert nodded. "There's something like that going in the Quarter, on the levee behind Jackson Square. Mayor Moon's for that one. It's in the planning stage." He grinned. "Maybe we could put a statue of the mayor, or his wife, on our spot."

Bingham nodded. He watched as Amalise walked back to her chair without saying anything. Robert went on about regulations and permits, and Bingham tuned out. Really, this transaction couldn't close soon enough, he thought.

In her office later on, Amalise frowned as she sorted through stacks of documents, looking for the draft of the syndicate's loan agreement. Despite her resolutions, despite every effort, she couldn't get the family on Kerlerec out of her mind. She made a mental note to replace the groceries she'd destroyed in their kitchen. And she thought of the child Luke. So small and timid. Malnourished, she supposed. What would happen to him if Caroline and Ellis decided not to adopt him? Or if the adoption wasn't approved? Either way, he'd be sent back into that institution.

Luke could have been any child she'd seen on the news two years ago at the end of the Vietnam War. He could have come from Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos. He could have been one of the children flown out of Saigon during Operation Babylift, just ahead of the Viet Cong invasion of the city. She frowned and tightened her lips, remembering one of the Babylift flights that had crashed on takeoff. The images came rushing back, the horror of that day, the pandemonium.

Thoughts of those shadow children had stuck with her the past few years. Was that why she couldn't let go of the family on Kerlerec Street? Was Luke a living reminder of the helplessness she'd felt, that everyone had felt watching the nightly news back then? She turned her head to the window and stared at nothing for a moment, then roused herself.

She found the loan agreement and pulled it from the pile. Pushing the rest of the documents aside, she opened this one to the first page. She told herself, as she began to read, as she had many times before, that she must focus now, that there was nothing one person could do to change things so far away. Wars, famine, orphans—that was the way of life on the other side of the globe. The only things that ever seemed to change were the names, the faces, and the geography.

Holding the agreement with both hands, she shook it, as if to focus her attention. This agreement.
This agreement!
Would it change anything for the better? Frustrated, she thumped the page and set it down on the desk before her.
Abba!
Why had she been given a second chance to make her life worthwhile, only to be stuck with this odious transaction? The question opened again that infinite void inside, the same emptiness she'd felt when she'd realized that Jude and Rebecca were in love.

Looking at the deal books on the shelf facing her desk, she knew these weren't the kind of things that could fill the empty sphere. As indicated by their elegant binders, those books, and what they represented, were important to everyone involved at the time they were negotiated and signed. But in the overall scheme of things, they were merely transient in nature. Their importance would diminish as time passed and the agreements grew outdated and, then, inevitably, were replaced or filed away, never to be seen again.

It occurred to her then that an infinite void cannot be filled with finite things.

Phnom Penh, Cambodia 1975

Four o'clock. The child stumbled, and
Samantha stopped to pick him up, hiking him so that his weight rested on her arm and he could lean against her shoulder, as you would carry an infant. He was light, but still she found it difficult to run with him as they moved against the tide of refugees stirring up the dust, shouting, sweating, many weeping. Desperation swept over her, focusing her thoughts like a beam of light from one of those plastic toy ray-guns. She had to find transportation to the airstrip. A car, a Vespa, or even a bicycle taxi. At this pace they'd never make it to the plane in time. The child buried his face in the curve of her neck and made a soft keening sound. She tightened her grip on him, patted his back.

"It's all right. Don't be afraid." She whispered the words into his ear and the keening turned to a whimper. She didn't pray much, but she found herself mumbling out loud, "Help us. Please God. If not for me, help the child."

Pushing, scrambling, Sam stepped to one side as the crowd parted for an automobile moving steadily forward, its horn blaring. An oxcart overflowing with passengers trailed in the car's wake, the driver whipping the poor animal forward before the crowd could close up again. The cart lurched from side to side, and a woman in the middle of the cart waved a white shirt like a flag.

Sam pressed on, fighting the surge. Grim faces stared out at her from the oxcart as she pushed past. Theirs were villagers' eyes, eyes accustomed to the expanse of rice fields and blue sky, to the sight of lush green banana trees rustling in the breeze. These were country eyes now opened wide to take in tall buildings they never imagined to exist and the mass of humanity around them. As the oxcart moved slowly forward, the occupants' heads whipped from side to side following the explosions of sound and smells and movement, sometimes gazing back through the blazing sunlight and dust in the direction from which they'd come as though unwilling to let that go.