Scent of Roses (6 page)

“Yeah, right. See ya.” Gwen disappeared through the bedroom door and Elizabeth heard the front door close as she left the apartment. The women had known each other since high school. Since Elizabeth's return to San Pico, they had become even closer friends.

It was the only thing she really liked about the ugly little town. Nice people. Gwen Petersen was one of them. An image of Carson Harcourt, tall, blond and handsome, rose into her head. Carson seemed nice, too. She wasn't completely immune to the notion of having a man in her life. Tonight might prove interesting.

E
lizabeth crossed the living room to answer the knock at her door. Carson stood on the small front porch, looking casually elegant in a pair of summer-weight tan slacks and light blue shirt, a navy blue jacket draped over one arm.

“Ready?”

“Let me get my purse.” She grabbed the black fabric bag that matched her high heels, locked the front door as they walked out, and Carson guided her down the walk to his silver Mercedes.

“You look terrific, by the way,” he said as he opened the door and waited for her to slide into the passenger seat. “Great dress.”

“I wasn't quite sure what to wear. Fortunately, I had a very nice wardrobe by the time I left L.A. My ex-husband was a stockbroker with big aspirations. He wanted his wife to project the right image.”

“Most of the women from here drive down to L.A. to go shopping.”

Most of the women married to men with money,
he meant. Elizabeth no longer cared about playing the role she had played as Brian's wife, though she had to admit she was glad she had the appropriate clothes to wear tonight.

The drive out of town to the farm didn't take long. Carson parked his car in an immaculate four-car garage, but took her around to the front door to go into the house. The big, white, wood-framed structure with its wide porch across the front looked impressive and well cared for from the highway. Now she saw that the interior had recently been remodeled: new paint, new drapes, new furniture, which was a comfortable mix of overstuffed sofas and Victorian antiques, the oak floors adding a sense of elegance and charm. The molded ceilings were high, and an antique chandelier hung from the ceiling in the entry.

The decorating had been professionally done, she was sure, probably a designer from L.A.

“It's lovely, Carson. Like something out of
Better Homes and Gardens
only more inviting.”

“Thank you. I wanted a place that looked good but didn't put people off.”

He led her into one of two front parlors, where a bar had been set up. A member of the catering staff, a young man in black slacks and a starched white shirt, poured her a glass of chilled champagne, Schramsberg, a brand she recognized as coming from the Napa Valley, a fairly expensive California label.

They talked as Carson gave her a tour of the downstairs portion of the house, including his modernized kitchen where the catering staff was hard at work, then on to his wood-paneled study. By the time they returned to the parlor, a long black stretch limousine was pulling up in front of the house.

“Looks like they're here. Three of the couples flew in on a twin-engine Queen Aire. I hired a limo from Newhall to collect them. Another is bringing the Castenados up from L.A.”

“I gather you have an airstrip here on the ranch.”

He nodded. “It isn't big enough to handle a private jet, but it serves most other small planes very well.”

“Do you fly yourself?”

“I thought about taking lessons, but I really don't have time.”

They walked toward the foyer and Carson pulled open the leaded glass door, inviting his guests inside. The fourth couple arrived within minutes of the other three, the group varying in ages from thirty-five to sixty. Introductions were made all around, then Carson led his guests into the bar and drinks were served.

Elizabeth was glad she had worn the black dress. The other four women had on equally expensive outfits, two wore sequin-trimmed pants suits, one a knee-length, ivory dinner suit, another a simple black sheath similar to the one she had on.

They talked for a while, then Carson rested a proprietary hand on her shoulder. “If you ladies don't mind, there are a couple of items of business that need to be discussed before we go in to supper. It shouldn't take all that long.”

He didn't wait for their approval, just turned and started walking, all four males in the group following him down the hall toward the study.

Elizabeth turned to the ladies, taking over the role of hostess. “Is this the first time you've been to San Pico?”

“None of us have ever been here,” said one woman in a dinner suit, Maryann Hobson, who was married to a real estate developer in Orange County. “Though, of course, we've known Carson for quite some time.”

“His home is lovely,” one of the other women said, Mildred Castenado, a tall, statuesque Hispanic woman whose dark eyes seemed to take in every detail.

“Yes, it certainly is,” Rebecca Meyers agreed. Her husband was the CEO of a big pharmaceuticals company and Becky, as she had asked to be called, seemed a bright intelligent woman. “I particularly like what they've done with the molded ceilings.” Painting the walls a creamy beige and the moldings very white.

“Have you known Carson long?” the fourth woman asked, silver-gray hair, thin lips and tight lines around her mouth. She was the eldest of the women, Betty Simino, wife of the senior member of the group.

“We've been acquainted for several years,” Elizabeth said, not liking the assessing look in the woman's pale blue eyes. “This is the first time I've been to his home. I agree with Mildred. The house is quite lovely.”

“Carson used the designer I recommended,” Mildred said proudly. “Anthony Bass. I think he did a marvelous job.”

“Yes, he did.”

The conversation went on in that vein, light, mostly pleasant, with only an occasional foray by Mrs. Simino into the nature of Elizabeth's relationship with Carson, which, of course, didn't actually exist.

Elizabeth found herself glancing toward the study door, wondering when Carson would return. Praying it wouldn't be much longer.

 

Carson surveyed the men seated on the comfortable leather furniture in his study.

The leader, Walter Simino, Assistant Chairman of the California State Republican Party, set his Waterford tumbler of scotch down on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“You know why we're here, Carson. The women are waiting and we've got supper ahead of us. I don't see any reason to pussyfoot around. We came here for one reason—to convince you to run for state assembly.”

They had discussed the possibility at length, of course, and he had given the matter plenty of thought.

Carson leaned forward in his chair, his gaze going to each man in the group. “I'm extremely flattered. You all know that. But going into politics isn't a step to be taken lightly. It takes years of commitment, years of struggle and hardship.”

“That's right, it does.” This from Ted Meyers, CEO of McMillan Pharmaceutical Labs, a tall man with thinning brown hair. “But what we've got in mind would be worth the hard work and it might not take as long as you think.”

“We're talking about more than just the assembly, Carson.” Walter looked him straight in the face. “A man like you, with your reputation, you could win the assembly seat and in the next election, run for state senate. From there, with the right backing, you could make a run for a seat in Congress. You're the right age, Harcourt, only thirty-six years old. You've got the looks and the charisma, your background seems to be clean as a whistle, and you've got the kind of connections that can take a man all the way to the top.”

He'd been thinking that same thing. He had connections that went back as far as his fraternity brothers at the USC. With the right moves, the right people behind him…A vision of the White House popped into his head, but he quickly shoved it away. It was way too soon to be thinking like that. Still, as Walter had said, there was no limit to how far he might go.

“There's just one thing.” Paul Castenado looked a little uneasy and Carson knew exactly his concern—the nemesis who had plagued him since he was a boy.

“My brother.”

“That's right. We need Zachary on our team. It's no secret there's bad blood between you two. It wouldn't look good if your brother opposed your bid for office.”

Carson worked to keep his voice even. “I can't guarantee what Zach will do. He's a wild card. He always has been.”

“Maybe,” Walter said. “Then again, maybe with the right motivation, we can convince him to our way of thinking. That's the reason I asked you to invite him here tonight.”

And amazingly, Zach had agreed. Carson didn't like it. Not one bit. But the fact remained, the men were right. It didn't look good for a member of a candidate's family to oppose his bid for office. Even if he and Zach were only half brothers.

While the others waited, Ted Meyers disappeared out the door and a few minutes later, Zach walked into the study. Meyers closed the door behind them.

Walter pointed to an empty seat, but Zach sat down in a chair closer to the door.

“I'm here as requested,” Zach said. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” His brother's deep voice held the slightly mocking tone Carson had always despised.

“Thanks for coming, Zach.” Charles Hobson's smile was friendly. Hobson was a big-money real estate developer in Orange County who was fairly well acquainted with Carson's brother. Through his legal work, Zach knew a lot of important people in Southern California. “Let me introduce you to the group, then we'll tell you what it is we've got in mind.”

 

What they had in mind, Zach discovered a few minutes later, was to win his support for his brother with promises of future paybacks. A quid pro quo kind of deal. Zach would agree to back his brother's bid for a seat in the assembly and in return, Carson would use his influence to help Zach get a judgeship in L.A. County. The money wouldn't be nearly as good as what he made now, but that kind of power was worth a lot.

Or at least that's what Walter Simino and the rest of the committee believed. And the fact was, with a judgeship he could do a lot of good.

“Once Carson's elected,” Simono said, “he'll garner a great deal of influence. If your brother were to run again when his term came to an end, maybe pick up a seat in the state senate, his power would be even greater. He could be a tremendous help to you, Zach. Who knows, maybe sometime in the future, even a seat on the California Supreme Court might not be out of the question.”

They were tossing out a powerful lure. Not that he believed it would actually happen. As the conversation progressed, Zach mostly kept silent. As he listened, he kept thinking of his brother running for political office. He had heard rumors, but he'd never asked Carson about them. Now that he knew those rumors were true, somehow it didn't surprise him.

Even here, as Carson sat across the room, he wore a politician's smile.

The conversation reached a pause and Zach rose from his chair. “I think I've heard enough. To be honest with you, there is nothing any of you or Carson could offer me that would be of the slightest interest, not even the idea of a judgeship. In regard to his campaign, I won't promise my support.”

His brother's jaw faintly tightened.

“On the other hand, I won't do anything that could hurt him. I won't take part in anything that might be construed as opposition to his bid for office and I won't endorse anyone else. That is the best I can do. Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

He turned and headed for the study door.

“What about supper?” Carson asked, amazed, it seemed, that he was leaving.

“No, thanks. But it's hot as hell out there. If you don't mind, I'll have a drink on my way out.” He left the study and made his way back to the parlor. As he had walked into the house, he had spotted Liz Conners near the bar, speaking to the wives of the men in the study.

Curiosity led him in that direction. Curiosity, he told himself, nothing more.

Ignoring the women, he walked straight over to the bar. “Diet Coke with a lime,” he said to the young man pouring drinks.

“Coming right up.” The bartender poured the drink and set the crystal highball glass down on the bar. Zach picked it up and took a swallow, his gaze on Liz Conners. There was a break in the women's conversation and Liz walked off by herself. He made his way over to where she stood.

“Zachary Harcourt…I have to say, I'm a little surprised to see you here.”

“Why is that? You don't think I'm the political type?”

“Actually, no.”

“Then you'd be right. As a matter of fact, I'll be leaving in just a few minutes. I thought I'd come over and say hello before I took off.”

Her gaze moved over his face as if she was trying to figure him out. A dark auburn eyebrow went up as she noticed the drink in his hand.

“Diet soda,” he explained. “I do have a drink on occasion, just not when I'm driving. I was never an addict or an alcoholic. I was just stupid.”

“So you really have reformed.”

“For the most part. I hope I'm never as dull as my brother.”

Her mouth tightened for an instant. She had a pretty mouth, he thought, full lips softly curved, colored a nice shade of pink.

“You don't think much of each other, do you?” She looked great tonight, even classier than she had that night at the banquet. He wondered how a psychology counselor afforded such expensive clothes. Then again, maybe his brother bought them for her.