Authors: Linda Barlow
On the other hand, what he really ought to do was find himself a woman in New York. Maybe even a woman his own age. Or younger.
At forty-nine, Daisy was considerably older than he was. Oh, sure, she didn’t look it. She took care of her body and she was
graced with lovely, ageless skin. But the fact was, there were bound to be younger, more attractive women available if he
only had time to seek them out. No doubt they’d be more compliant as well—and less independent
than a rich Texas widow who’d set her sights on a career in national politics.
“How y’all coping, hon?” Daisy asked.
“It’s been difficult,” Christian said. He could hear that his words were clipped. Christian was aware that people thought
of him as cold and overly controlled, which suited him just fine. He’d spent many years learning to contain his emotions,
and he was pleased that he’d finally succeeded. “The police and the FBI are hanging around constantly, that asshole bodyguard
is asking questions, and the latest is that the long-lost daughter is taking over Power Perspectives—a task she’s ill-suited
for as far as I can tell.”
“Taking it over? What d’you mean?”
“Seems Rina changed her will and April Harrington has inherited the business. Isobelle’s bouncing off walls with frustration.
It’s something to see.”
“Darlin’, I wish you’d be a little more charitable toward your own sister.” Daisy’s voice was gently chiding.
“Isobelle and I haven’t been charitable towards each other in years.”
“Why did the daughter inherit?”
Christian laughed shortly. “Who knows. Rina was unpredictable to the last.”
“Have the police made any progress towards finding the killer?”
“None that I can see.”
“Well, I sure hope they get him. Your stepmother was the closest friend I ever had. In fact, she—” her voice broke for a second.
Christian heard her take a steadying breath. “If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be headed for the Senate. She changed my life,
and the thought that her murderer is running around free turns my stomach something fierce.”
“Yeah, well, maybe the Dallas police commissioner can
do something about it. They’ve got a history there of trying to solve mysterious assassinations.”
A beat. Then, “You’re not jealous, are you, hon? The man is happily married.” Her smoky voice devolved into a laugh. “He’s
also about five-six and two hundred fifty pounds. Not my type, I promise you.”
“No,” he said impatiently, “I’m not jealous. But if you can fit New York into your busy schedule sometime soon, I’d like to
see you. Now I’ve got to go. I’ve got another call.”
“I’ll be there next Sunday morning, hon, I promise. Miss you!”
“Bye,” Christian said and dropped the phone back into its cradle.
There was of course no other call.
He lit another cigarette and turned back to his computer screen.
Concentration proved to be impossible, though.
Christian stared into space for several minutes, then pulled out his wallet and searched for the card he and everyone else
had received from Agent Martin Clemente, FBI. He noted the number and dialed.
He got an answering machine. He waited for the beep, identified himself, then said, “You asked us to contact you with even
the most trivial information, so here’s one for your list. It’s been a badly kept secret in our family that my stepmother
had a brief affair with President Kennedy just before his death. I’ve never been a conspiracy buff, personally, but what if
there was some kind of plot? And what if Rina knew something about it?
“I know it’s far-fetched. You’d be better off investigating Rina’s clients, not to mention the strange and unpleasant people
my sister hangs out with. But I’m sure you don’t want to leave any stone unturned.”
Christian hung up the phone.
Then he leaned back in his desk chair and smiled.
As April entered the building on Park Avenue whose address she had been given over the phone, she was aware of venturing into
a world that was very different from what she had seen so far in New York.
There were doormen at many buildings, but this one was as prim and correct as a British butler. She’d expected to have to
explain who she was, but he knew her.
“The elevator will take you right up, Madame,” he told her and ushered her into a large, dark-wood paneled elevator with a
plush oriental carpet on the floor.
“Which apartment?” she asked.
He smiled gravely. “It’s the penthouse, Madame,” he said.
There were no controls that she could see on the inside of the elevator. It must have been controlled by the doorman, however,
since it sped her directly up to the penthouse on the twenty-second floor.
She stepped off the elevator into a small room papered in a Chinese design. A large blue-and-white porcelain
vase stood on a pedestal beside a tall double door. There was a brass knocker on the door that was as large as an andiron.
April was about to see if she could lift it when the door opened and she was greeted by a middle-aged uniformed maid.
“Ms. Harrington? Welcome. Do come in.” She had a British accent and April had to repress the thought that she looked very
similar to Jean Marsh from
Upstairs Downstairs.
This was an apartment on the twenty-second floor? It looked more like the ground floor of a mansion. The front door opened
directly into a large gallery, complete with Roman pillars on either side, and several yards ahead of her a wide grand staircase
swept upward to another floor. The floor underfoot was black marble, and there were faded, yet beautiful tapestries hanging
on the walls. One showed a hunting scene, complete with sylvan woods and horsemen; the other was an exquisite representation
of the Judgment of Paris.
The maid took April’s cardigan and hung it out of sight behind a massive oak door that April assumed must hide a closet. “Monsieur
awaits you upstairs,” she announced. “Please follow me.”
“Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner this evening?” Armand de Sevigny had said on the telephone this morning
after the reading of her mother’s will. He had been very courtly, and it had been impossible to refuse.
Besides, she was curious.
They were partway up the staircase when Armand appeared at the top and began descending to meet her. “Miss Harrington, welcome!”
He nodded to the maid and said, “That’ll do, Anna. We really needn’t stand on ceremony so much around here.”
Anna climbed on past him while Armand held out his
hand to April. “The servants take themselves much too seriously,” he whispered with a smile. “They have me terrorized!”
“I doubt that very much,” April said, also smiling.
“Sabrina knew how to manage them, but I don’t.” His expression grew somber. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
April squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“This must be an exceedingly strange situation for you, April. May I call you April instead of Miss Harrington?”
“Of course.”
“I hope you were not too upset by what happened yesterday at the lawyer’s office. My daughter behaved regrettably.”
“It was a shock to everyone,” April said.
The hallway at the top of the stairs opened into a huge living room. The colors were muted, the furnishings elegant, and the
lighting low. Armand ushered her to the sofa; he remained standing until she was comfortably seated, then took the easy chair
opposite her.
“Thank you for coming,” he said.
“Thank you for asking me.”
“Anyway, as I was saying, this is an awkward situation for you. I have my children to offer their support. You are in this
alone.”
From what April had seen of his children, she couldn’t imagine that too much support would be forthcoming, but she kept this
thought to herself. “I’m used to it,” she said without rancor. “I’ve been fending for myself for a good many years.” She shrugged.
“It’s been good for me.”
“Yes. You strike me as strong, self-assured, and independent. Sabrina, I’m sure, would have admired those qualities in you.”
April drew a quick breath. “She chose her own path.”
He nodded. “But not entirely without regret. I would like you to be able to understand that, someday.”
April saw little hope of that.
He turned the conversation to other matters, and after a few minutes she found herself relaxing and enjoying his company.
He proved to be an adept conversationalist— witty and knowledgeable—and his courtliness shone through in his every word, his
every gesture. His twinkle-eyed charm reminded April of an old Maurice Chevalier movie. His French accent was clear, but not
thick; in many ways Armand seemed very Americanized.
He bore little in common with the man whom she vaguely remembered as the suave and dashing lover who had sailed off with her
mother, leaving her standing alone on a New York City dock. It was as if he had softened with age instead of hardening the
way most people did.
“And now, if you will permit me—” Armand led the way into a dining room that was large enough for a diplomatic banquet “—I
suggest we eat. I find it difficult to concentrate on business when my stomach is empty. Plus, I would like to get to know
you better.”
As it turned out, it wasn’t until the entree had been cleared away and the coffee served that Armand shifted the discussion
to what April suspected was the real reason they were together this evening.
“Have you given any consideration yet to coming to work for us at Power Perspectives?” he asked.
“I haven’t had much chance to think about it.”
“I suspect that when all is said and done, your impulse will be to decline.” He paused. “But, if I may, I would like to urge
you to accept.”
April put down the cup she had just raised to her lips. “Forgive my surprise, but I would have wagered a month’s
income that you’d invited me here tonight to try to talk me into declining.”
He tipped his head slightly to one side and smiled gravely. “If you will permit me, I would like to try to explain. You see,
I loved your mother very much. Her business meant everything to her—indeed, it was far more than a business. It was a vocation.
She has helped so many people—both individually and in groups. But none of it could have been accomplished if it were not
for her inspired leadership.”
He stopped, sipped his coffee, then continued more slowly, as if somewhat reluctant to go on, “As you know, I have two children,
Christian and Isobelle. They are both exceptional in their own way, but neither of them, I fear, well—” He shrugged, looking
pained. “What I mean to say is that neither my son nor my daughter strikes me as a suitable replacement for your mother at
the helm of Power Perspectives.”
“Why not?”
“You will hear of these things anyway, so I might as well be entirely forthright. My son and I have had some conflict between
us over the years.” He shook his head sadly. “I have never understood him. He keeps such a tight hold on his emotions, you
see. But recently he has been doing an excellent job working for De Sevigny Ltd. One day I hope to make him my successor.
He had never been interested in Power Perspectives and therefore there would have been no point whatsoever in Sabrina’s naming
him.”
“But what about your daughter?”
Again, Armand shook his head. “Isobelle has a good head for business. But she lacks discipline. She has always run with the
wrong crowd, as I believe you say. Her choice of friends leaves much to be desired. In truth,” he added with a sigh, “she
has caused me much heartache and worry over the years. You have read, of course, your great English playwright, Shakespeare?”
April nodded.
“Sadly, I have felt in recent years much empathy for the great King Lear. ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have
a thankless child!’ “
“I see.” Armand, she sensed, was a dramatic man, who would not hesitate to grandstand emotionally if it were to bring the
desired response. Courteously, she said, “But what has any of that to do with your daughter’s business acumen? Unlike your
son, Isobelle seems quite an emotional woman. If passion is necessary to lead the Foundation, surely this is something your
daughter possesses in full measure.”
“Passion must always be balanced.” He was speaking with more ease and fluency now. “In my son and daughter I have two opposite
sides of the spectrum. One is ice, the other fire. I seek some element that is between the two, blending passion with good
judgment.” He steepled his fingers and rested his chin upon them. “That is why I am so impressed with you.”
“Excuse me, but what do you know of me, monsieur?”
“I have done some checking, my dear. I know that you have successfully started and run your own business, and that you are
highly respected for what you do. You are considered an expert by your colleagues, and you are very well-liked by your employees
and friends.”
April twisted her cup on the table. Everyone, it seemed, was checking into her past—the police, the FBI, Blackthorn, the de
Sevignys. How far back, she wondered, were they checking? How much would they find out?
“I wish I knew as much about you as you apparently know about me,” she said a bit testily.
“I would like to give you that opportunity. That is part of the purpose of this meeting.” He opened his hands in a gesture
of willingness. “Please. Ask me anything you like.”
“Well,” she took a deep breath and looked him directly
in the eye. “Maybe you could begin by explaining how you justified separating a mother from her only child?”
He returned her gaze. “There is no way to justify it,” he said. “I was young and selfish. The same could probably be said
for Sabrina. She led me to believe that you and she were not—” he stopped and shrugged. “Well. Let’s just say she seized an
opportunity to escape from a life of hardship, a life she was never suited for. We both thought that in sending you to an
exclusive boarding school we were giving you an advantage that she had never had.” He paused. “But what you really needed,
of course, was our love, a sense of family, a feeling of belonging. It is much easier to see that now, in retrospect.”