Inheritance (75 page)

"It sounds like hard work."

"That's it; I knew you'd get it. It's a goddam tough job, and I hate it. But eveiy time I think it's not worth it, I look at that

Inheritance

fucking film. Paul gave me a videotape. It's my bedtime story, to scare me into being a good boy."

Laura put her hand on his. "You really are scared."

"Scared to death, sweetheart. Because what if I can't do it? I don't want to die, you know . . . shit, why am I talking like this at your party? Hey, dance with me." He turned to the young girl. "Laura, you don't mind, do you? She's an old friend."

The girl shook her head, and Farley led Laura to the dance floor. They made a striking couple, and others turned to watch. "Don't feel sorry for me," he said. "Everybody's scared of something. My shrink told me that. We're all scared and nmning from something or other—the past, the present, the future, whatever—and I'm just the same. It's just that I'm scared of never not being scared. What do you think? You think ru make it?"

"I think you have a good change," she said softly. "Some things stay with us and you'll have to keep on fighting, but it gets easier after a while."

"I'm in love with you, did you know that?" he asked.

"Yes." She smiled gently. "But you've got your Laura, Britt, and it looks to me like she's crazy about you, and I think you could love her if you let yourself."

"Christ, you sound like my shrink. I could do this or that if I let myself. Why do I stop myself? Tell me that. If I know something is good for me, why don't I just go ahead and do the goddam thing, whatever it is?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

Why can't I forget Paul and my anger at the Salingers and this feeling that I have to get more from them? I know it would be good for me to forget, so why can't I do it?

The dance was over. "I'm supposed to be working, helping Kelly run everything. Call me, Britt; let me know how you

are."

"Say a prayer for me," he said mockingly.

"I will." She kissed his cheek and left him at his table with his Laura and his two drinks, max, and the private war he was waging with himself.

Couples stopped her as she crossed the dance floor; she was invited to balls and dinner parties in Chicago and Philadelphia

Judith Michael

and New York. "After all, you do have hotels there; you must be there a lot.'* "I am, but I'm never sure when," she replied, "m call you; we'll be in touch; thanks so much . . ." Sometimes the world seemed glued together by parties, she thought. If they all stopped, would everyone fly off into space and disappear? Or sink into lonely little wells because they had nothing to do that night?

She was smiling to herself as she came upon Clay, dancing with Myma. "My goodness," she blurted, then apologized. "I'm sorry, you took me by surprise. Clay, I thought you were in New York. And I didn't know you and Myma were together."

"We're deciding that now," Myma said. "Clay says he wants it."

"It?" Laura asked.

"Myma wants it," Clay said. "I just want her to move to New York and live in my loft and see how we like it."

"We lived together in Chicago and liked it fine," Myma said.

He shmgged. "I just want to try it for a while. Things are kind of getting out of hand, and I thought it might be nice to have you back."

"What does that mean?" Laura asked. "Out of hand."

'There's a lot going on," he said, gesturing. "Like the job. It's bigger than I expected—more responsibility, more money riding on my decisions. That's not easy to live with. And I thought it might be a good idea to relax a little bit. Not cut out the excitement—you know me, Laura, I have to have action or I go crazy—but kind of balance it with something a little more— '*

"Quiet," Myma said. "And stable. Men need that," she told Laura. "Without us they just go off in all directions. I love Clay and I want to take care of him, and if you don't mind—^"

"Hey, you don't have to ask Laura's permission to woo me!" Clay said with a short laugh. "She's not my guardian. Beloved sister and employer, but not guardian."

He was acting very oddly, Laura thought. Just having been with Farley, she wondered if he was on dmgs. But he didn't seem to be; he seemed mostly the way he always was: sweet and charming, with more energy than he could contain, too

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many plans at once, a dependence on women. It occurred to m her that he was only a little younger than Paul had been when they had been planning their wedding. But Paul had been a man, and Clay was still a boy, afraid of being forced to grow up, probably afraid of marriage. But he'd called Myma, and he knew she wanted marriage. Getting out of hand. His gam-|l bling, she thought. Well, he'll have to get over it, the same as Britt with his drugs. And if Myma can help him, good for her. ^ "Whatever you two decide is fine with me," she said. "If ^ there's anything I can do, let me know. Just answer one ques-« tion. Clay. How come you're here? I thought it was Philadel-I phia this week and Washington the week after." " "It was. But I promised Myma she could come to the party, and we drove over from Philly. I'm not missing much work; we'll be back there before noon tomorrow. Hey, Laura, don't frown at me; I can't stand it when you do. What's so terrible about coming to a party if you're practically in the neighborhood?"

Laura hesitated. "Nothing; it's all right. I guess I just like to know where you are. Have a good time. Call me in the rooming before you leave, will you? I'll be in Kelly's office." I "Sure thing." *Thanks, Laura," Myma said. Laura wasn't sure what she was being thanked for, but Ginny was waving to her from the bar at the end of the room, so she nodded, kissed Clay, and left them. When she tumed to look back, they were dancing again, so slowly and sinuously it was almost as if they were making love.

Ginny was in shnky black covered in paillettes that reflected every beam of light. "What do you think?" she asked Laura. "Do I look like a sex symbol or the wicked witch of the night?"

"Sex wins," Laura laughed. "Have you been here long?" "Long enough to see you dancing with Britt. The word is that you'll marry him."

Laura sighed. "I wish 'the word' was that the Beacon Hill is the best hotel in Washington. Or that all the Beacon Hills are the best, wherever they are. Or even that Laura Fairchild is the best hotel executive in America. Why does the word always have to be about somebody sleeping with somebody,

Judith Michael

or marrying somebody, or not sleeping or not getting married?"

"People like sex better than business, you know that. They like business, too, especially if it's ruthless, but sex comes first. The best combination was you and Wes. Sleeping together, working together, making money together."

"We weren't ruthless."

"Well, three out of four isn't bad." They laughed, and Ginny said, "Can we have a drink together? I want to talk to you about something."

"Sex or business?"

"Business."

*Then I'd love it."

They sat on high-backed stools at the Victorian bar that Laura had rescued &om a mansion being torn down at the time tiie Beacon Hill was being renovated. *Two Armagnacs," Ginny said to the bartender, then bent close to Laura to be heard beneath the orchestra and the high pitch of conversation without raising her voice. "A party isn't your usual place to talk business, but once I make up my mind about doing something nice, I have to spit it out or I feel like I'll choke to death on it. So listen. Whatever the word is for anybody else, for me it's that this hotel is sensational. And you're absolutely right: every Beacon Hill is the best. No hotel can ever be the same as home—you know that, I know that—but you've come closer than anybody I know. You are an impressive lady and I love you."

Sli paused to wave to Daniel Inouti, who was waving to her from across the room. "He's building two hotels for the Salingers; I think he's here as a spy."

"He was invited," Laura said with a laugh. "And why would he be spying? Everything I've done has been written about in hotel magazines. Anyway, Felix doesn't like small hotels; he likes them big and anonymous, with small rooms and high prices. Sort of like a one-night stand."

Ginny's eyes gleamed. "I like that. And you don't like him."

*That*s hardly a secret."

**But you want to buy into his company."

"You know why; I've told you that story."

I

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"So you have." Their drinks arrived, and she sipped at hers. "Good. You always stock your bars with the best."

"Ginny, you're being coy. What did you want to talk about?"

"You. And the Salingers. Do you still want to buy shares in that company?"

"Of course. But I haven't found a way to get the money, and I don't know if any of them would be willing to sell even if I did have it."

'That's what I want to talk about. You've never asked me to invest in OWL Development; you've never asked for a loan. I like that: friendship and business don't mix. Usually. However, I have now seen you open four hotels, and I've watched them take off. What's your occupancy rate?"

"Overall? Between seventy-five and eighty-eight percent."

"Unheard of in the industry. Right?"

Laura nodded. She was tense with excitement because she knew now what Ginny was going to say.

"Right," Ginny repeated. "So you're good. We all know that. So I want to be in this with you. I've talked to my accountants and so on, and I'm planning on loaning you the money to buy into Salinger Hotels."

Laura put her arm around Ginny and lay her cheek against hers. They sat that way for a moment, without saying anything, without needing to say anything. Then she straightened. "So many people have helped me," she said quietly; Ginny had to strain to hear her words. "I've been so lucky to find so many wonderful people . . ."

"It's not luck," Ginny said flatly. "Don't you know how much you give to people? You listen to their problems, you don't judge them, you invite them to your parties, whoever they are, you don't talk about yourself as much as you pay attention to them. Remember Chicago? I thought you were a fool to sit with Britt at brunch the day after he baiked up that danmed ruckus, but I was wrong; now he's your firiend for life. Not that he can do much for you— **

"I didn't do it so he'd do something for me."

'That's die point! You do those things because you care about people. I know, I know, you do care; you've had your own bad times. But not everybody who has them remembers

Judith Michael

tfaem. Well, anyway"—she sat back and drank her brandy— *'you shouldn't be surprised that people do things for you. However, I am loaning you money because you are a terrific businesswoman and a good bet. I have been known to get sentimental, but not—at least I sincerely hope not—when I'm handing over ten million dollars."

Stunned, Laura stared at her. The talk and laughter in the room and the pulsing beat of the orchestra seemed to swell, washing over her. "How much?"

"Ten million. Give or take a few."

"How do you know? You mean someone is selling shares?"

Ginny nodded. "A friend of a friend. They're in some trouble over there—^Felix expanded too fast, and they've got some hard work ahead to get back to as solid as they'd like, and one of the board members wants to bail out while the price is good. He owns two percent of the company; ten million dollars* worth, which is what I'm offering you so you can buy in. We'U talk about interest and other terms tomorrow; I can promise they'll be very favorable. If this sounds agreeable to you."

Of my thirty percent holdings in Salinger Hotels Incorporated, I leave twenty-eight percent, divided equally, to my sons Felix and Asa Salinger. And to my most beloved Laura Fair-child, who has brought joy and love to the last years of my life, I leave the remaining two percent of my shares . . .

Two percent.

Owen, we've done it.

Laura took Ginny's hand between hers and once again leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Dearest Ginny," she said. "It sounds wonderfully agreeable."

Chapter 28

THE sixth theft was of four Matisse line drawings from the Hawaiian estate of Daniel Inouti, stolen while he was in London for an Easter gathering of his far-flung family. Nothing else was taken, no clues were left, and the caretakers in their adjoining apartment slept through the night undisturbed.

Sam Colby was in a rage. Six! Six different locations on two continents, with no clues, except they all had the same pattern. What the hell did he have to hang an investigation on? He took it as a personal insult, and as soon as he could arrange it, he flew to Hawaii to talk to Inouti, who arrived from London the same day.

'Tell me everything!" he said to Inouti.

"About what?" Inouti asked.

"Everything, damn it! How do I know what's going to be useful until I hear it?" They sat on a veranda overlooking the ocean. Around them were brilliant displays of orchids and hibiscus; above, the sky was cloudless and birds soared. Colby noticed none of it. He might as well have been in a windowless office. "Start with the staff; at least half the time they're the guilty ones. How many houses do you own?"

"Four."

Colby sighed and launched into his questions. From there they turned to Inouti's four offices and the staffs in each, his close business associates, the sixty-four members of his fam-

Judith Michael

Uy, and the people with whom he socialized. "Okay, now your travel schedule."

"Almost no one knows that but my secretary."

"But people can call her and find out where you are."

**Of course. It would be impossible to do business if I couldn't be reached. I have no reason to hide myself."

"Right. So I want to know where you've been in the past year."

"Why is that?"

"Because there's a thief who knew when you'd be away from Hawaii, and I don't want him or them to be the only ones with information around here. Okay?"

Inouti reached into his pocket and brought out a thick leather-covered appointment book. "I can read to you everywhere I have been."

**Fine." As Inouti read, Colby wrote, and for the first time noticed that the sun was almost down. Someone once told him he should be sure to see a Hawaiian sunset if be ever had a chance. Well, I blew it, he thought. Maybe tomorrow. "Can we turn on a light?" he asked.