Inheritance (61 page)

Judith Michael

**Perhaps I wasn*t clear enough/* said Laura. "I need you immediately.**

**But madame, one cannot just vanish from a place of employment! One gives proper notice, perhaps helps a new chef begin—**

Laura was shaking her head. "We must be clear on this.** Her voice, Lyon noted, had hardened; everything about her was more businesslike. She was just as beautiful, but now it was as if she sat behind a desk. "I want you in New York next week, ril pay your hotel expenses while you find a place to live, and 1*11 pay for your traveling back here to help your wife close up your house. We'll find a school for your son as quickly as possible, so all of you can be together, but you must agree to begin working for me on Monday.**

"Four days fix)m now,*' Lyon murmured. He looked at his hands; he gazed about the room; he repeated her words to himself: share in the profits, free hand, wife to manage the toom. He met Laura's eyes; she was watching him steadily. I hope I am always on her side, he thought. She would make a formidable opponent. And then he nodded. "I will be at the hotel in New York on Monday morning."

Laura smiled and held out her hand. "I'm very glad. Ws*re going to work well together, you and I.*'

Lyon took her hand and siniled back. 'Truly,** he said.

Three weeks later, with the Washington Salinger*s occupancy rate hovering at thirty-five percent and a dining room that had been closed since its chef *s abrupt departure, Felix put up barely a struggle. His board made tt^ decision, and the Washington Salinger was sold to OWL Development for ten million dollars.

The next night, Laura sat at diimer with Ginny and Currier at Windows on the World, looking out over Manhattan, New Jersey, Brooklyn, and Queens. *The last time we celebrated a purchase,** Currier said, "you were worrying about money.**

"I still am," Laura said dreamily. "But not this minute. I don't want to talk about money or worries or even work.** Holding a glass of champagne, she looked out the window. A hundred stories below, the green sward of Central Park looked like a green brush stroke in the center of the tighdy woven

Inheritance

s tapestiy of buildings that was Manhattan, crammed into an 1 impossibly small bit of land bounded by two rivers. A place of 9 mysteries, of hidden treasures and entanglements and snares, } a place Currier once said she would make her own.

Owen*s four hotels, she thought. My hotels. Giimy, Clay, ■ Kelly—and VfeSy waiting for me. Almost a family. My family.

Sparics of champagne danced against her lip as she drank; it was as heady as die brandy she had breathed when she was seducing G^ard Lyon into coming to New York. Everything she did these days was as heady as brandy and champagne, as ll if she were running toward a dream city through fiel£ thick widi flowers, a little dizzy from the perfumed brilliance around her and from the dream, first so close, then reachable, now hers.

It was a headiness intoxicating enough to make her believe she had all she needed. She didn^t need the kind of family she had once longed for; she didn't need children. She didn't need anything more than what she had now: work, friendships, and the realization, when she woke each morning, that she could do what she wanted, overcome any obstacle, reach any goal.

As the sky daricened beyond the window, the lights in the restaurant gradually dimmed, making more brilliant die lights below, on Sie streets and in the windows of Manhattan. Laura knew she had abeady gone beyond her desire for Owen*s hotels, even beyond the drive to settle her score with Felix. This is what I need, she repeated to herself with a silent toast to the glittering tapestry far below, and all Til ever need: to know I can take on any opponent, and win.

Ben had checked the story on landmark status for the Philar de^^ Salinger and reported to the board that he could find nodiing in it. "*! also talked to the reporter at the Globe,** he said at die board meeting. ''He claims he only wanted a statement on landmark status in general and its possible effect oo the Philade^ihia hotel if the commission changed its nund. I have no idea why he thought the commission mi^ do that, but if he had any reason to think so, it was a logi^ question to ask the owner of the hotel. He insists he never said that die status had been changed.**

455

Judith Michael

''What the hell/' Cole Hatton said. ''Whether he did or not, Felix thought he did. I have no problem with Felix thinking this or that or any damn thing he wants to. Where I have a problem is Felix riding off in all directions without looking around to see if we're with him. You see my problem, Felix?"

A month later, when the board met again, the sale of the Washington Salinger was approved in fift^n minutes. "I don't give a damn what you think of her," Hatton said to Felix just before the vote. "Her money's good and ^e always pops up with it at just tiie right time. I'd like to meet her. She sounds like one tough, smart lady. And ten million is a decent price for a hotel that's got nothing going for it Anybody know what happened to the chef?"

No one knew. Felix had an idea, from the description the maitie d' had given of the woman who had dined alone and then talked to Lyon until well after midnight, but he said nothing. He cast his vote with everyone else for the sale of the Washio^n Salinger, his face frozen. But within, he seethed with frustrated fu^. She hadn't been stopped. Somehow she had arranged events to go her way. And the culmination of it had come widiin a month of his discovery of Ben Gardner's identity. It was no wonder he felt frustrated and ov^-£atigued. Anyone would be, surrounded as he was by enemies.

tfe would have to do something about both of them. Think about what to do, then arrange it. No matter how kng it took, he would think of something to make him once more victorious.

Ben had been watching Felix, noting how Felix nev^ met his eyes or addressed hmi directly anymcne, but when Asa introduced the new budget and the boanl be^ to discuss it, he let his thoughts wander. That tough, smart lady Hatton had talked about was his sister. Be tried to match the image of a savvy, hard-nosed businesswoman with the young gfi he'd last heard soMnng on the telephone becuise she thought he'd betrayed ber. How could it be the same posoo? He couldn't even imagine how she would look now; all he cookl see in his mind was his pretty httle sister, one of the most talented little thieves he'd known, who looked at him with ho* big eyes and thought he was wonderful. They'd h^ good tunes toother, he thought, turning to the next page of the budget so the others

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would think he was with them. Good, loving times. Until it all blew apart.

And he didn*t see how he could get it together again. Now less than ever before. Because even if he could think of a way to reach out to Laura, how the hell could he introduce her to his new family as his sister and expect to have the welcome mat put out, after she'd just shown them all up by getting most of her inheritance back, even though Felix had done his danmedest to stop her? And what would it do to his position in the family, to be connected to her? He knew how they'd reacted when they found out Laura had lied to them about herself; he could imagine how they'd feel about him. Introduce Laura as his sister? He might as well throw a bomb in the family's midst and watch the pieces fly.

He might be able to tell Allison, he thought that evening as he unlocked the front door of the house on Beacon Hill. He'd thought about it so many times, but every time he did, it seemed so complicated and unlikely that he gave it up. Laura was happy and getting what she wanted, and so was he. It was probably better that they stayed as they were.

**Mrs. Gardner is in the garden," the housekeeper said when he asked where Allison was, and he walked through the house to the back door. When he opened it, he stood still for a moment, watching Allison before she saw him. She sat on a low chair between beds of roses, nursing Judd. Her red skirt was spread around her like the petals of a rose, her breast was whiter than the white blouse she had opened, and Judd's blond head nestled against it with a burst of light. The sun's rays slanted low over the stone wall, bathing the two of them in a deep golden light, and, high above, a cardinal sang a long trill that floated with pure sweetness into the garden.

Ben held his breath, afraid to move. The scene was so perfect, like a painting of paradise, he wanted to fix it in his mind. But just then Allison looked up, her face bright. "I'm so glad you're here. Do you know you have a very greedy son?"

"He's only greedy because he appreciates his wonderful mother." He bent over her and kissed her, making himself part of paradise. He sat on the grass beside Allison, and together they watched their son, whose small mouth made litde suck-

Judith Michael

ing motions even though he had fallen asleep. "^He's getting big/' Ben said. "He'll be walking in a couple of months.'*

Allison laughed. "When he's six months old? Your inexperience is showing."

"You and Judd have a lot to teach me/' he agreed with a smile. He felt relaxed and content. "What did you do today?"

"Wandered around with Molly, looking for galleries."

A small frown cut into his contentment. "You're going ahead with that?"

"I think so. Yes, I am. I really want something to do outside the house, something useful and challenging. I know art, at least I know twentiefii-century, and Molly knows nineteenth-, so we're a good team. ..." When he was silent, she said defensively, "I have the time and the nK)ney, and I'd still be with you and Judd as much as I am now. . . . You don't really mind, do you?"

"Of course not. You shouldn't even ask. As you say, you have the money."

"Ben, don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Talk that way. In that tone of voice. We haven't worried about money for a long time."

"Yon never worry about money."

"I think about it; I don't worry about it. Why can't you do the same? What difference does it make if everything isn't equal? We're living on your salary, isn't that enou^? If I want to do something extra— "

"We have a lot of extras around here. Vacations, redecorating the house, giving parties on your father's boat, the car you gave me for my birthday ..."

"Oh, all right," she said, nervous and angry. "If it's going to be such an issue, I won't open the galleiy. Just, please, don't ruin things; they're so wonderful. ..."

"I'm soiry." Ben put his arm around her. "I don't want to ruin anything; you're right, everything is wonderful. And you'll have your gallery. I think it's a great idea. I'll help you all I can. Maybe I'll even buy something from you."

"I'll save you the best. If you let me give you a discount."

"I expect a discount. Won't I be a preferred customer?"

She smiled. "You're always preferred. It's so good having

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you back; I don*t like it when you travel. The house seems twice as big and five times as empty. Why can't someone else

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*Tour father wants me to go. It was one of Hnc prices for moving up to vice president for development." He wants me to slip up somewhere, Ben thought, and the European hotel maiket is confusing enough for an American that the chances are better there than here. "But it won't last long/' he said to Allison. **One of these days rU arrange it so I don't have to

go."

'*If you don't, I'll go with you," she murmured comfortably. '*Judd and nanny and all."

He chuckled. ^There's nothing that will impress the Europeans more than a hotel man with his entourage." He bent his head and kissed her, his arm around her, his hand cupped over the baby's head, and they sat together, talking quiedy, until shadows filled the garden and the nanny came to get Judd. As they walked into the house, Ben lingered in the doorway, gazing at the lush roses beneath the pale sky tinged with pink and gray, hearing the echo of Allison's voice.

My home, he thought. My wife. My son. Allison was right. It was periect.

Though it would be even more perfect when he could also say: My company.

Clay sat cross-legged on the water bed, surveying his new home. Beyond the high windows were die renovated warehouses of SoHo and the skyscrapers of Manhattan; in the open expanse of die uncarpeted loft, strange furniture huddled in clusters, looking tiny and lost; a window air conditioner hummed and spat; and beside him a young girl slept, her bare bottom smooth and cool beneath his hand.

It was early morning. He had just awakened, and in that unfamiliar room, at a time when he was usually still asleep, he had a moment of dizziness and fright: he didn't know where he was. He didn't even know the name of the girl beside him. It wasn't Myma, he knew that; Myma was still in Chicago, giving him time to miss her so much he'd call her and tell her he wanted to marry her. And he did miss her. He might even call her. Everybody he knew in Chicago had been getting

Judith Michael

married the last few months heM been there: it was a rash, an epidemic, a kind of mass hypnosis. So he might call My ma eventually: she'd been faithful for a long time. But first he had to figure out where he was.

He sat very still; the girl slept. It was very simple, really; he was in a loft he'd sublet from a musician who was on the road. He had a place to Uve for a few months while he looked for something more permanent; he had furniture, even if it sagged and bulged like a has-been heavyweight; he had company, the little girl next to him, who modeled brassieres for Bloomingdale's catalogues and had a weakness for blond men with mustaches; and he had a new job.

Clay Fairchild, he announced with silent grandeur. Vice president for quality control of OWL Development. Citizen of New Yoric City. World traveler, for business and pleasure. Fabulous poker player. Lx)ver of women.

He grinned. Not bad for a kid who'd been picking pockets less than ten years before. Of course it was mainly because he'd been smart enough to stick with Laura, but that was all right: he gave his sister full credit. Terrific lady. Brains and looks and a hell of a cook when she had him over for dinner. He wouldn't be anywhere without Laura. Ginny Starrett kept telling him that, but he knew it anyway. Without Laura, he'd have spent a few years tagging along with Ben on penny-ante break-ins until Ben hooked up with Allison Salinger, and then that would have been it; no way would that conniving bastard have brought his little brother into that set-up; he'd want it all for himself.