Fairy Tale Weddings (13 page)

He gathered her in his arms and kissed her to the boisterous approval of their guests, who were still watching from the sidewalk.

“Did you see the banner?” Thorne asked, pointing to the church.

“No.”

“I think Vanessa had something to do with that.”

Cindy laughed. There, above the doors, a banner was hung, the words bold and bright for all the world to read:

CINDY AND HER PRINCE LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

“O
nce upon a time in a land far away,” Judy Lovin began in a still, reverent voice. The intent faces of the four-year-olds gathered at her feet stared up at her with wide-eyed curiosity. Hardly a whisper could be heard as Judy continued relating the fairy tale that had stirred her heart from the moment she'd first heard it as a youngster no older than these. It was the story of Beauty and the Beast.

Today, however, her thoughts weren't on the fairy tale, which she could recite from memory. As much as she was trying to focus her attention on her job, Judy couldn't. She'd argued with her father earlier that morning and the angry exchange troubled her. She rarely disagreed with her father, a man she deeply loved and respected. Charles Lovin was an outspoken, opinionated man who headed one of the world's most successful shipping companies. At the office he was regarded as demanding but fair. At home, with his family, Charles Lovin was a kind and generous father to both Judy and her older brother, David.

Charles's Wedgwood teacup had clattered sharply when
he'd placed it in the saucer that morning. “All those years of the best schooling, and you prefer to work as a preschool teacher in a day-care center.” He'd said it as though she were toiling among lepers on a South Pacific island instead of the peaceful upper east side of Manhattan.

“I love what I do.”

“You could have any job you wanted!” he'd snapped.

His unprovoked outburst surprised Judy and she'd answered quietly. “I have exactly the job I want.”

He slapped the table, startling her. Such behavior was uncommon—indeed, unheard of—in the Lovin household. Even her brother couldn't disguise his shock.

“What good are my wealth and position to you there?” he roared. “Beauty, please…”

He used his affectionate name for her. She'd loved the fairy tale so much as a child that her father had given her the name of the princess. Today, however, she felt more like a servant than royalty. She couldn't recall a time when her father had looked at her in such a dictatorial manner. Swallowing a sip of tea, she took her time answering, hoping to divert the confrontation.

She was a gentle soul, like her mother, who had died unexpectedly when Judy was in her early teens. Father and daughter had grown close in the years that followed and even during her most rebellious teen period, Judy had hardly ever argued with him. And certainly not over something like this. When she'd graduated from the finest university in the country at the top of her class, she'd gone to work as a volunteer at a local day-care center in a poor section of town. She'd come to love her time with these preschoolers. Charles hadn't objected then, or when she'd been asked to join the staff full-time, although her pay was
only a fraction of what she could make in any other job. But after all these months, it seemed unfair that her father should suddenly object.

“Father,” she said, forcing herself to remain calm. “Why are you concerned about the day-care center
now?
”

He'd looked tired and drawn and so unlike himself that she'd immediately been worried.

“I'd assumed,” he shouted, his expression furious, “that given time, you'd come to your senses!”

Judy attempted to disguise a smile.

“I don't find this subject the least bit amusing, young lady.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You have a degree from one of the finest universities in this country. I expect you to use the brain the good Lord gave you and make something of yourself.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Try living off what you make taking care of other women's children and see how far that gets you in this world.”

She touched her mouth with her linen napkin and motioned with her head to Bently, who promptly removed her plate. The English butler had been with the family since long before Judy was born. He sent her a sympathetic look. “Do we need the money, Father?” she asked.

In retrospect, she realized she probably shouldn't have spoken in such a flippant tone. But to hear her father, it sounded as if they were about to become destitute.

Charles Lovin completely lost his temper at that, hitting the table so hard that his spoon shot into the air and hit the crystal chandelier with a loud clang, shocking them both.

“I demand that you resign today.” And with that, he tossed his napkin on his plate and stormed from the room.

Judy sat for a long moment as the shock settled over her. Gradually the numbness subsided and she pushed back her genuine Queen Anne chair. All the furniture in the Lovin home had been in the family for generations. Many considered this a priceless antique; Judy considered it a dining-room chair.

Bently appeared then, a crisp linen towel folded over his forearm. He did love ceremony. “I'm sure he didn't mean that, miss.” He spoke out of the corner of his mouth, barely moving his lips. It had always amused Judy that Bently could talk like that, and she assumed he'd acquired this talent from years of directing help during dinner parties and other formal gatherings.

“Thank you, Bently,” she said, grinning. “I'm sure you're right.”

He winked then and Judy returned the gesture. By the time she arrived at the day-care center, she'd put the thought of resigning out of her mind. Tonight when she got home, her father would be his kind, loving self again. He would apologize for his outrageous tantrum and she would willingly forgive him.

“Miss Judy, Miss Judy!” Tammi, a lively little girl, jumped to her feet and threw her arms around her teacher's neck. “That's a beautiful story.”

Judy returned the wholehearted hug. “I love it, too.”

“Did Beauty and the Beast love each other forever and ever?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Did they have lots of little beasts?”

“I'm sure they did, but remember, the Beast wasn't a beast any longer.”

“Beauty's love turned him into a handsome prince,” Jennifer exclaimed, exceedingly proud of herself.

Bobby, a blond preschooler with pale blue eyes, folded his arms across his chest and looked grim. “Do you know any stories about policemen? That's what I want to be when I grow up.”

Judy affectionately ruffled the little boy's hair. “I'll see if I can find a story just for you tomorrow.”

The boy gave her a wide smile and nodded his head. “Good thing. I'm tired of mushy stories.”

“Now,” Judy said, setting the book aside. “It's time to do some finger painting.”

A chorus of cheers rose from the small group and they scurried to the tables and chairs. Judy stood up and reached over her head to the tall cupboards for the paper and paints.

“You know what I love most about the Beast?” Jennifer said, lagging behind.

“What's that?” Judy withdrew an apron from the top shelf and tied it around her waist. Her brown hair fell in soft curves, brushing her shoulders, and she pushed it back.

“I love the way Beauty brought summer into the Beast's forest.”

“It was her kindness and gentleness that accomplished that,” Judy reminded the little girl.

“And her love,” Jennifer added, sighing.

“And her love,” Judy repeated.

 

“I have the report you requested.”

John McFarland glanced up from the accounting sheets he was studying. “Put it here.” He pointed to the corner of his beech desk and waited until his business manager, Avery Anderson, had left the room before reaching for the folder.

McFarland opened it, stared at the picture of the lovely brown-eyed woman that rested on top and arched his brows appreciatively. Judy Lovin. He'd seen her picture in the
New York Times
several months ago, but the photo hadn't done her fragile beauty justice. As he recalled, the article had described her efforts in a day-care center. He studied her photograph. Although she was lovely, he knew women who were far more beautiful. However, few of them revealed such trusting innocence and subtle grace. The women he dealt with all had a seductive beauty, but lacked heart. Seeing Judy's photograph, McFarland was struck anew at the contrast.

He continued to stare at the picture. Her dark brown eyes smiled back at him and McFarland wondered if she had half the backbone her father possessed. The thought of the man caused his mouth to tighten with an odd mixture of admiration and displeasure. He had liked Charles Lovin when he'd first met him; he'd been openly challenged by him several years later. Few men had the courage to tangle with McFarland, but the older man was stubborn, tenacious, ill-tempered…and, unfortunately, a fool. A pity, McFarland mused, that anyone would allow pride to stand in the way of common sense. The U.S. shipping business had been swiftly losing ground for decades. Others had seen it and diversified or sold out. If McFarland hadn't bought them outright, he'd taken control by other channels. Charles Lovin, and only Lovin, had steadfastly refused to relinquish his business—to his own detriment, McFarland mused. Apparently, leaving a dying company to his beloved son, David, was more important than giving him nothing.

Lovin was the last holdout. The others had crumpled
easily enough, giving in when McFarland had applied pressure in varying degrees. Miraculously, Lovin had managed to hang on to his company. Word was that he'd been cashing in stocks, bonds and anything else he could liquidate. Next, he supposed, it would be priceless family heirlooms. It was a shame, but he felt little sympathy. McFarland was determined to own Lovin Shipping Lines and one stubborn old man wouldn't stand in his way. It was a pity, though; Lovin had guts and despite everything, McFarland admired the man's tenacity.

Leafing through the report, he noted that Lovin had managed to get a sizable loan from a New York bank. Satisfied, McFarland nodded and his lips twisted with wry humor. He was a major stockholder of that financial institution and several other Manhattan banks, as well. He pushed the buzzer on his desk and Avery appeared, standing stiffly in front of him.

“You called, sir?”

“Sit down, Avery.” McFarland gestured to an imposing leather wing chair. Avery had been with McFarland four years and John had come to respect the other man's keen mind.

“Did you read the report?”

“Yes.”

McFarland nodded and absently flipped through the pages.

“David Lovin is well thought of in New York,” Avery added. “He's serious and hard-working. Wealth doesn't appear to have spoiled the Lovin children.”

“David?” McFarland repeated, surprised that he'd been so preoccupied that he'd missed something.

“The young man who will inherit the Lovin fortune.”

“Yes, of course.” McFarland had examined the Lovin girl's photograph and been so taken with her that he hadn't gone on to read the report on her older brother. He did so now and was impressed with the young man's credentials.

“Many people believe that if Lovin Shipping Lines can hold on for another year…”

“Yes, yes.” McFarland knew all that. Congress was said to be considering new laws that would aid the faltering shipping business. McFarland was counting on the same legislation himself.

“Father and son are doing everything possible to manage until Washington makes a move.”

“It's a shame,” McFarland murmured almost inaudibly.

“What's a shame?” Avery leaned forward.

“To call in his loan.”

“You're going to do it?”

McFarland studied his employee, astonished that the other man would openly reveal his disapproval. John knew that to all the world, he seemed to be a man without conscience, without scruples, without compassion. He
was
all those things—and none of them. John McFarland was an entity unto himself. People didn't know him because he refused to let anyone get close. He had his faults, he'd be the first to admit that, but he'd never cheated anyone.

He stood abruptly, placed his hands behind his back and paced the area in front of his desk. David Lovin was a fortunate man to have a heritage so richly blessed; McFarland knew nothing of his own family. Orphaned at an early age, he'd been given up for adoption. No family had ever wanted him and he'd been raised in a series of foster homes—some better than others.

McFarland had clawed his way to the top an inch at a
time. He'd gotten a scholarship to college, started his first company at twenty-one and been a millionaire by twenty-five. At thirty-six, he was one of the wealthiest men in the world. Surprisingly, money meant little to him. He enjoyed the riches he'd accumulated, the island, his home, his Learjet; money brought him whatever he desired. But wealth and position were only the byproducts of success. Unlike those whose fortunes had created—or were created by—family businesses, McFarland's empire would die with him. The thought was a sobering one. Money had given him everything he'd ever wanted except what he yearned for most—love, acceptance, self-worth. A paradox, he realized somewhat sadly. Over the years, he'd grown hard. Bitter. Everything in him demanded that he topple Lovin as he had a hundred other businesses. Without sentiment or regret. The only thing stopping him was that damnable pride he'd recognized in Charles Lovin's eyes. The man was a fighter and he hated to take him down without giving the old boy a chance.