Her Own Rules/Dangerous to Know (44 page)

Ignoring this, he said, “When are you coming?”

“On Wednesday morning. Is that all right?”

“It's fine.”

We said good-bye and hung up.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FIVE

A
s planned, I left London very early on Wednesday morning.

Several hours later I was being driven out of the airport in Marseilles, the driver headed in the direction of Aix-en-Provence.

I had not visited the château for some time and I had forgotten how beautiful Provence was. Now as we drove up through the Bouches-du-Rhône I leaned back against the car seat, occasionally glancing out of the window, enjoying the scenery.

It was a pleasant spring day. Sunlit fields, vineyards, and olive groves under a fine blue sky brought back a rush of childhood memories, and for a few seconds I was transported to another time.

I had first come to Provence when I was five years old, and I recall how confused I had been by the foreign language and this strange new place full of volu-able people and unfamiliar sights.

I had clung to Jack's hand tightly, my eyes as big as saucers as I had taken everything in. But I had not been afraid. Quite the contrary. I remember that, like Jack, I had been excited about seeing the castle my father had recently bought. And when we had finally arrived at the Château d'Cose, Jack and I had been impressed.

Together, hand-in-hand, we had wandered around the great house, peering into its vast rooms, traversing its endless corridors, and exploring its dusty attics. We had been awed by it all.

We had spent many happy times at the château for the next few years, even though Antoinette Delaney and Vivienne had invariably been with us on our vacations in France. My father had wanted them with us and who was I, a mere five-year-old, to protest.

Vivienne.
I wondered what to do about her.

Madge Hitchens had warned me she wanted to interview me for the profile of my father she was writing. No doubt she knew I was coming to Aix. Jack wouldn't have been able to keep that to himself. He told her everything. Like my father he had made her his sole confidante, a role which went all the way back to their childhood in Connecticut.

There was no question in my mind that she would come bearing down on me whilst I was staying with Jack. I at once decided to beat her to the draw. I would call her and make a date before she had a chance to phone me. I didn't particularly relish the idea of seeing her, but knowing her as I did, she would persist in hounding me until I talked to her. I might as well get it out of the way. And on my own ground.

The last time I had seen Vivienne was at Sebastian's memorial service at the Church of St. John the Divine in Manhattan.

She was miffed with me after our run-in at the farm following my father's burial; I was angry with her. She had tried my patience, playing the grieving widow the way she had during the course of that morning. Divorced from Sebastian for a number of years, Vivienne had been another man's wife and then his widow. I had seen no reason for her to adopt the role of widow at Sebastian's funeral, since she was merely an ex-wife.

Jack had said I was wrong, pointing out that Vivienne was genuinely grieving, reminding me that Sebastian had been her guardian after her mother had died. I'd quarrelled with Jack that day too; we had all been on edge I decided later and immediately smoothed it over with Jack.

I made up my mind to be civil and cordial with Vivienne when I saw her at the château. For undoubtedly I
would
see her.

 

Simone, Jack's housekeeper, and Florian, his houseman, were hurrying down the front steps of the château even before the car had drawn to a standstill.

A second later, as I alighted, they came rushing forward to greet me, their faces all smiles.

“Bonjour, madame,” they said in unison.

“Bonjour, Simone, Florian,” I responded, smiling back.

The driver had now taken my small case out of the trunk and when she saw it, Simone exclaimed, “Monsieur Locke said you would be here only two days. I see that is so from your luggage. C'est dommage, Madame Kamper, c'est dommage.”

“Next time I hope to stay longer, Simone,” I murmured, following her up the steps into the château. She had worked here for fifteen years and I had always been a special favorite of hers.

Jack came striding into the hall at this moment, saying apologetically, “Sorry, honey. I was on the phone. Paris.”

“Hello, Jack,” I answered and smiled up at him.

He hugged me affectionately and then held me away from him. “Luce. You're different.” After a sharp and appraising look, he went on, “Cut your hair. Put on weight. Great! You look great.”

“Thank you, Jack, and you don't look so bad yourself.”

Grinning at me, he put his arm around my shoulder and walked me into the small sitting room next to the library. It was a cozy room, full of big armchairs and a comfortable sofa arranged in front of the stone fireplace. Green velvet draperies hung at the windows, the color repeated in the antique savonerie on the floor.

He said, “Let's have a chat. And a drink. Before lunch. I have a new wine. Special. You must try it, Luce.”

“I would love to, and tell me, darling, how've you been? I hope you're not too down in the mouth about the split with Catherine Smythe.”

“Not at all. Good riddance.” He walked over to the console table, where he kept a tray of drinks and glasses, and proceeded to open a bottle of wine. “We were not suited, not right together. I'm glad she's gone,” he muttered dismissively.

Sitting down on a chair near the fire, I studied him for a moment.

I could not help thinking how much he resembled Sebastian this morning. He was wearing a vivid blue turtleneck sweater which emphasized the color of his eyes. With his head of thick dark hair and finely chiseled features he was the spitting image of our father.

I almost said this and then instantly bit back the words, knowing they would offend him. He hated me to tell him he looked like Sebastian, and he forever went out of his way to dress quite differently.

Our father had been such an elegant, fashionable, and impeccably tailored man; Jack was just the opposite, favoring old sweaters, frayed shirts, baggy corduroys, and worn jackets that he had Florian endlessly patch and repair. I was really quite ashamed of his clothes. That is why I usually gave him sweaters and shirts, ties and jackets for birthdays and Christmas. He never seemed to buy anything for himself.

Jack would never admit it, but I knew he dressed this way on purpose, and that he reveled in looking slightly rumpled. I had long ago discovered that comparisons to Sebastian infuriated him, and yet they were almost unavoidable. There was no question whose son he was, they looked so much alike.

Glancing at me across the room, Jack started to give me details about the new wine, how it had been put down nine summers ago, and how it had turned out to be a jewel of a red, probably the best ever produced at the château.

As I listened, I began to realize that Jack spoke more fluidly and in longer sentences as he discussed the wine and Olivier, and how the latter had created it.

It struck me suddenly that this was because he was relaxed and talking about something that he genuinely cared about. Usually words came out of my brother's mouth in short staccato bursts, an abrupt speech pattern that had developed when he was about eight or nine years old. In those days, he frequently stuttered, an affliction that had upset all of us, not only Jack. I think this was why he began to speak in those short bursts. To avoid stuttering. At least that was my theory.

Carefully, Jack carried my glass of wine over to me, then went back to get his own. A split second later, standing in front of the fire, he raised his glass and said, “Here's to that great man whose name is Luciana.”

I stared at him, a brow lifting as I did.

“That's what Voltaire said to Catherine the Great. It's a compliment.”

“I realize that,” I said. “Thank you.” I then took a sip of wine, and nodded. “It's lovely, Jack, and not too heavy. Congratulations.”

Beaming at me, Jack sat down on the sofa and asked, “What did you want to talk to me about, Luce?”

I took a big swallow of wine and said, “Locke Industries.”

“What about Locke?”

“The running of the company
specifically
, Jack.”

“Jonas is a great CEO. No problem there. Sebastian handpicked him. Jonas handpicked Peter Sampson. Our profits are high. We've never done better. What's your problem?”

“I don't have a problem, I agree with you, I think they're both terrific and Locke
is
in great shape. What I'm trying to say is that I'd like to be more involved in the running of it.”

My brother stared at me. “Want to move, Luce? Run the women's divisions. In New York. Like Sebastian offered. Is that it?”

“I might want to move to the New York headquarters, and take up the offer Sebastian made before he died, yes. But what I'm talking about right now is being involved at a higher level, a corporate level.”

“Not following you, kid.” My brother eyed me.

“I'd like to have a hand in the running of Locke Industries, not just the women's divisions.”

“That wouldn't work! It wouldn't sit well, Luce. Not with Jonas. Nor with Peter. Interference. That's how they'd see it. Wouldn't blame 'em.” He shook his head vehemently. “No, no, it wouldn't work.”

“Because I'm a woman, is that it, Jack?” I asked quietly, staring him down.

“You know better than that. For this reason:
You need more experience.
You're not old enough to handle a company like ours. It's too big.”

“Oh come on, Jack, don't say that. You know very well that Sebastian thought a lot about my ability, my practicality, and my efficiency. He had great things planned for me at Locke.”

“He did. That's true. But you're not experienced enough. Neither am I. Luce,
I
wouldn't know where to begin. Nor would you. Down the road a bit maybe. Not now, honey.”

I sighed. “I don't want you to think I don't have faith in Jonas, because that's not so. I happen to believe he's a genius and so does Gerald.”

“He's proved it to me. Look at the balance sheet,” Jack said in a voice that sounded tough.

“Have
you
ever wanted to run Locke Industries, Jack?”

He shook his head. “No. But you know that. I just told you how I felt. I wouldn't know how. Not even Sebastian wanted to run it. Not full time. Not in the end. And he helped to make it what it is. Tough job, Luce, real tough.”

“You don't really like being chairman, do you?” I gave my brother a penetrating stare. “Isn't it a bit of a bore having to go to New York every two months? Having to deal with Jonas on a daily basis?”

“I don't talk to him every day,” Jack cut in, frowning. “What're you getting at?”

“If you want to step down, I wouldn't mind being chairman, Jack. Really I wouldn't. You've never been interested in the company, you much prefer to be here running the vineyards.”

He threw back his head and roared, his laughter echoing around the small room. “I always knew you were ambitious. But Jesus, Luce! Trying to take the chairmanship!
From
me. That beats everything.”

“I'd only take it if you didn't want it. Or share it with you, if you felt like doing that. You know, to ease your burdens.”

My brother began to laugh again, shaking his head. “I gotta hand it to you, kid. You got chutzpah.”

“I'm being realistic. I love the business. You don't. I'd make a terrific chairman.”

“Maybe. But it's
my duty
To be chairman. I was brought up to do the job. And I will. Remember Cyrus and Sebastian drilling it into me? Night and day. Duty.

Duty. Duty. That's all they talked about to me. Don't let the family down. Run the business. Look after your sister. Be a dutiful son. Dutiful grandson. Dutiful heir. Dutiful Locke.”

“Yes, I remember,” I murmured. “They gave you a hard time, Jack darling, I know that.”

“So leave it alone. And don't forget something. Sebastian laid it all out. In his will. In the division of shares.”

“I know he did. Drop it, Jack. Forget I brought it up. But in case you ever do want to retire from the chairmanship, I'm ready to take over.”

“You'd have to, Luce. That's the way the will's laid out. The way Sebastian wanted it. There's no one else. But if you
do
want to go to New York to run the women's divisions, then do it.”

I nodded, and continued, “Jack, there's something I want to say. Look, I promised to talk to you on Madge's behalf. She wants you to go out on a few field trips. To Africa, for the charities.”

“No way! Absolutely not!” he exclaimed. “I've told Madge that. Several times. I'm giving away the same amount of money. As much as Sebastian did. I'm even willing to fund more charities. New ones she brought to me. But no traveling. Not for me. No trips to Zaire. Or Zambia. Or Somalia. Or Angola. Or Rwanda. Or India. Or Bosnia. Or any of the places Sebastian liked to wander around. Indifferent to disease, bombs, bullets. Indifferent to chaos, murder, revolution. Whatever. Absolutely no bloody way!
I'm
not insane. He was.”

“All right, all right, don't get so excited. It was only a suggestion on Madge's part, well, a request really. And I already told her that I was quite sure you wouldn't do it.”

“Damn right I won't.”

“Jack, did you tell Vivienne I was coming to stay with you?”

“Yes. Why? Does it matter?”

“No, of course not. I understand from Madge that she wants to . . . sort of interview me for the profile she's writing about Sebastian.”

“Yes, she does.”

“Then I'm going to phone her later and invite her over to the château. How about tonight? Does that suit you?”

“Sure. Invite her to dinner. If you want.”