by Nora Roberts
“I haven’t told you how wonderful you were last night,” Julia said to Rory. “Or how much I appreciated your going to the trouble to send tickets.”
“No trouble at all,” Rory assured her. “I was delighted you and Paul would brave the elements and attend.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it.”
“Do you enjoy Lear?” Lily asked her.
“It’s very powerful, stirring. Tragic.”
“All those bodies heaped up at the end—really all due to an old man’s vanity and folly.” She winked at her husband. “Rory’s marvelous in the part, but I suppose I prefer comedy. It’s as difficult to pull off, but at least when one crawls off the stage, it’s with laughter ringing in one’s ears rather than wails of lamentation.”
Chuckling, Rory directed his comment to Julia. “Lily likes happy endings. Early in our relationship I took her to see A Long Day’s Journey into Night.” Rory forked up some wild rice. “Afterward, she told me that if I wanted to sit around for several hours absorbing misery, I’d have to do it with someone else. Next time around I took her to a Marx Brothers festival.”
“So I married him.” She reached over to touch her fingertips to his. “After I discovered he knew whole blocks of dialogue from A Night at the Opera.”
“And I thought it was because I’m so sexy.”
When she smiled at him, a tiny dimple winked at the left corner of her mouth. “Darling, sex is limited to bed. A man who understands and appreciates comic genius is a man you can live with in the morning.” She leaned back again and fluttered her lashes at Julia. “Wouldn’t you agree, dear?”
“Paul’s never offered to take me anywhere but a basketball game,” she said without thinking. Before she could regret it, Lily burst into delighted laughter.
“Rory, what a pathetic father you must have been if your son can’t do better than a bunch of sweaty men tossing a ball at a hoop.”
“I certainly was, but the boy always had his own ideas about everything, including the ladies.”
“And what,” Paul asked as he calmly continued to eat, “is wrong with basketball?” Since his gaze was leveled at Julia, she thought it prudent to give a noncommittal shrug. She looked amazingly beautiful when she was flustered, he thought. Her skin heated up, and she had that sexy way of nibbling on her bottom lip. He decided he’d be certain to nibble on it, and other areas, himself a little later.
“You wouldn’t go with me,” he reminded her.
“No.”
“If I’d asked you to, say, a Three Stooges retrospective, would you have gone with me?”
“No.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Because you made me nervous.”
He reached across the table to toy with her fingers. “And if I asked you now?”
“You still make me nervous, but I’d probably risk it.”
As he picked up his wine, he looked toward his father. “It seems my ideas work well enough. Lily, the duck is excellent.”
“Why, thank you.” She chuckled into her wine. “Thank you very much.”
It wasn’t until coffee and brandy were served back in the cozy sitting room that the subject of Eve Benedict was broached again. Julia was still casting around in her brain for the most tactful way to begin the interview, when Lily opened the door.
“I was sorry we weren’t able to attend the party Eve gave recently. Surprised to be included in the invitation, and sorry to miss it.” She tucked up her legs cozily, revealing their long length. “Rory tells me that she’s always given incredible parties.”
“Did you give many when you were married?” Julia asked
Rory.
“Several actually. Small, intimate dinner parties, informal barbecues, glitzy soirees.” He circled a hand in the air. His gold cuff links glinted in the firelight. “Your birthday party, Paul, do you remember?”
“It would be hard to forget.” Because he understood it was an interview, he looked at Julia. He noted Lily had settled back to listen. “She hired circus performers—clowns, jugglers, a wire walker. Even an elephant.”
“And the gardener nearly quit when he saw the state of the lawn the next day.” Rory chuckled and swirled his brandy. “Living with Eve brought few dull moments.”
“If you could use one word to describe her?”
“Eve?” he thought for a moment. “Indomitable, I suppose. Nothing ever held her back for long. I remember her losing a part to Charlotte Miller—a tough pill for Eve to swallow. She went on to play Sylvia in Spider’s Touch, won in Cannes that year, and made everyone forget that Charlotte had even done a film at the same time. About twenty-five, thirty years ago it was becoming difficult to find good roles—actresses of a certain age were not courted by studios. Eve went to New York, plucked a plum in Madam Requests on Broadway. She ran with it for a year, won a Tony, and had Hollywood begging her to come home. If you’ll look back at her career, you’ll see that she’s never chosen a bad script. Oh, there were some uneven ones in the beginning certainly. The studio pushed her and she had no choice but to follow. Yet in each one, even the poorest of them, her performance was that of a star. It takes more than talent, even more than ambition, to achieve that. It takes power.”
“He’d love to work with her again,” Lily put in. “And I’d love to see them do it.”
“It wouldn’t be awkward for you?” Julia asked.
“Not in the least. Perhaps if I didn’t understand the business, it might be difficult. And if I weren’t sure that Rory values his life.” She laughed, rearranging those smooth, shapely legs. “In any case, I have to respect a woman who can remain friends, real friends, with a man she was once married to. My ex and I still detest each other.”
“Which is why Lily hasn’t left divorce as an option for me.” Rory reached out to link his hand with hers. “Eve and I liked each other, you see. When she wanted out of the marriage, she went about it in a courteous, reasonable way. Since the failure was mine, I could hardly hold grudges.”
“You say it was yours—because of other women.”
“Primarily. I imagine my … lack of discretion where women are concerned is one of the reasons Paul’s always been so cautious. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Selective,” Paul corrected his father.
“I was not a good husband, I was not a good father. The examples I set in each were less than admirable.”
Paul shifted uncomfortably. “I did well enough.”
“With little help from me. Julia’s here for honesty. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, but if I could say—as someone on the outside—I think you were a better father than you realize. From what I’ve been told, you never pretended to be anything but what you were.”
His eyes warmed. “Thank you for that. I have learned that a child can benefit as much from bad examples as he can good ones. Depending on the child. Paul was always a bright one. Therefore he has been discriminating where the opposite sex is concerned, and he has little patience for the careless gambler. It was my lack of discrimination, and my carelessness that Eve finally tired of.”
“I’ve heard you’re interested in gambling. You own horses?”
“A few. I’ve always had luck in games of chance, perhaps that’s why I’ve found it hard to resist a casino, a leggy Thoroughbred, the turn of a card. Eve didn’t object to the gambling. She enjoyed a few games herself now and again. It was the people one tended to come into contact with. Bookies aren’t normally the cream of society. Eve avoided most of the professional gamblers. Though several years after our divorce she did become involved with someone closely tied to the trade. That, too, was my fault, as I introduced them. At the time I didn’t know myself how involved he was, Later, it was an introduction I came to regret.”
“Gambling?” Though her instincts went on full alert, Julia took a casual sip of wine. “I don’t recall coming across anything in my research about Eve being involved with gambling.”
“Not with gambling. As I said, Eve never had much inter
est in the delights of wagering. I suppose I couldn’t call him a gambler. One isn’t when the odds are always stacked in one’s favor. The polite term, I suppose, would be businessman.”
Julia glanced at Paul. The look in his eyes brought one name shooting into her mind. “Michael Delrickio?”
“Yes. A frightening man. I met him in Vegas on one of my more delightful hot streaks. I was playing craps at the Desert Palace. The dice were like beautiful women eager to please that night.”
“Rory often refers to gambling in female terms,” Lily put in. “When he’s losing, he attaches very creative female terms to dice or cards.” She gave him an indulgent smile before she rose to pour more brandy. “Such a filthy night out. Are you sure you won’t have anything stronger than coffee, Julia?”
“No, really, thank you.” Though impatient with the interruption, her voice was only mildly curious as she steered the conversation back. “You were telling me about Michael Delrickio.”
“Hmmm.” Rory stretched out his legs and cupped his snifter in both hands. Julia had time to think he looked the perfect English gentleman in repose—the fire crackling at his back, brandy warming in his hands. All that was missing was a pair of hounds to slumber at his feet. “Yes, I met Delrickio at the Palace after I had cleaned up at the tables. He offered to buy me a drink, professed to being a fan. I had nearly refused. Such interludes can often be uncomfortable, but I learned that he owned the casino. Or, more accurately, his organization owned it, and others.”
“You said he was frightening. Why?”
“It was perhaps four A.M. when we had our drink,” Rory said slowly. “Yet he looked … well, like a banker taking a relaxed business lunch. I found him very articulate. He was indeed a fan, not just of mine, but of film. We spent nearly three hours discussing movies and the making of them. He told me he was interested in financing an independent production company, and would be in Los Angeles the following month.”
He paused to sip and to think. “I ran into him again at a party Eve and I attended together. We were both unattached, Eve and I, and often escorted each other, one might say. In fact, Paul was living with Eve while he attended some classes in California.”
“I was a sophomore at U.C.L.A.,” Paul elaborated. With a small shrug he pulled out a cigar. “My father has yet to forgive me for turning down Oxford.”
“You were determined to break family tradition.”
“And you became an advocate of tradition only when I did.”
“You broke your grandfather’s heart.”
Paul grinned around the cigar. “He never had one.”
Rory straightened in his chair, ready to do battle. Just as suddenly, he fell back again with a laugh. “You’re absolutely right. And God knows you were better off with Eve than with either your mother or me. If you’d buckled under and gone to Oxford, the old man would have done his best to make your life as bloody miserable as he tried to make mine.”
Paul merely sipped his brandy. “I think Julia’s more interested in Eve than in our family history.”
With a smile, Rory shook his head. “I’d say the interest runs about neck-and-neck. But we’ll concentrate on Eve for the moment. She was looking particularly stunning that night.”
“Darling,” Lily purred, “how rude of you to say so in front of your current wife.”
“Honesty.” He picked up Lily’s hand and kissed her fingers. “Julia insists on it. I believe Eve had just returned from a spa of some sort. She was looking refreshed, regenerated. We’d been divorced several years by then and were back to being chums. We were both quite delighted by the fact that the press would make a great deal of our being seen together. In short, we enjoyed ourselves. We might have—forgive me, darling,” he murmured to his wife. “We might have spent the night reminiscing, but I introduced her to Delrickio. The attraction was instant, the old cliché about lightning bolts, at least on his side. On hers, I’d say that Eve was intrigued. Suffice it to say that it was Delrickio who escorted her home. After that, I can only speculate.”
“You haven’t really answered the question.” Julia set her empty cup aside. “Why was he frightening?”
Rory let out a little sigh. “I told you he’d said he was interested in a certain production company. It seemed the company wasn’t interested in him, initially. Within three months of my introducing Delrickio to Eve, he—his organization—owned the company outright. There had been some financial setbacks, some equipment lost, some accidents. I learned through associates of associates that Delrickio had strong ties with … what does one call it these days?”
“He’s Mafia,” Paul said impatiently. “There’s no need to skip around it.”
“One hopes to be subtle,” Rory murmured. “In any case, it was suspected—only suspected—that he had links with organized crime. He’s never been indicted. I do know that Eve saw him discreetly for a few months, then she married that tennis player quite suddenly.”
“Damien Priest,” Julia supplied. “Eve mentioned that it was Michael Delrickio who introduced them.”
“It’s certainly possible. Delrickio knows a great many people. I can’t tell you much about that particular relationship. The marriage was a short one. Eve never discussed the reasons for its abrupt ending.” He sent a long look toward his son. “At least not with me.”
“I don’t want to discuss Delrickio.” The moment they entered the suite, Paul stripped off his jacket. “You’ve spent most of the evening interviewing. Give it a rest.”
“You can give me an angle your father can’t.” Julia stepped out of her shoes. “I want your insight, your opinion.” She could see the anger growing in him in the way he tugged off his tie—quick, tensed fingers dragging away the knot.
“I detest him. Isn’t that enough?”
“No. I already know how you feel about him. I want to know how you came to feel that way.”
“You could say I have an intolerance for crime lords.” Paul toed off his shoes. “I’m funny that way.”
Dissatisfied, Julia frowned as she drew the pins from her hair. “That answer would work if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve seen you with him and know it’s a personal intolerance rather than a general one.” The pins jabbed into her palm. As she opened her hand and looked down at them, she realized that this kind of intimacy had become easy between them. The kicking-off-your-shoes taking-down-your-hair comfort between lovers. Another intimacy, that of the heart, was more elusive. The knowledge brought a dull edge of pain that was both anger and hurt.
Watching him, she tossed the pins on the table beside her. “I thought we’d come to the point where we trusted each other.”
“It’s not a matter of trust.”
“It’s always a matter of trust.”
He sat, his face as stormy as hers was calm. “You’re not going to let this go.”
“It’s my job,” she reminded him. She walked to the windows to draw the drapes with one quick snap of her wrist and close out the storm. And to close them inside, so they were faced with only each other in the slant of gold from the lamp. “If you want to put this on a professional basis, fine. Eve can tell me anything I need to know about Michael Delrickio. I’d hoped to hear your point of view.”
“Fine, my point of view is that he’s slime oozing around in an Italian suit. The worst kind of slime because he enjoys being exactly what he is.” His eyes glittered. “He profits from the miseries of the world, Julia. And when he steals, blackmails, maims, or kills, he lists it all under the tidy heading of business. It means no more and no less to him.”
She sat, but she didn’t reach for her tape recorder. “Yet Eve was involved with him.”
“I think it would be accurate to say that she didn’t realize precisely who and what he was before their relationship developed. Obviously, she found him attractive. He can certainly be charming. He’s articulate, erudite. She enjoyed his company, and, I’d think, his power.”
“You were living with her,” Jul
ia prompted.
“I was going to school in California and making my base with her. I didn’t know how she’d met Delrickio until tonight.” A small detail, he thought, that hardly mattered. He knew the rest, or enough of the rest. And now, due to her own tenacity, so would Julia. “He started coming around—for a swim, a game of tennis, dinner. She went to Vegas with him a couple of times, but for the most part, they saw each other at the house. He was always sending flowers, gifts. Once he brought in the chef from one of his restaurants and had him prepare an elaborate Italian dinner.”
“He owns restaurants?” Julia asked.
Paul barely glanced at her. “He owns,” he said flatly. “A couple of his men were around, always. He never drove himself or came unaccompanied.” She nodded, understanding perfectly. Like the gates of Eve’s estate. Power always exacted a price. “I didn’t like him—didn’t like the way he looked at Eve as though she were one of his fucking orchids.”
“Excuse me?”
Paul rose and walked to the window. Restless, he tugged the drapes open a crack. The sleet had stopped, but there was a bitterness to the weather he could sense even behind the glass. One didn’t always have to see ugliness to recognize it. “He grows orchids. He’s obsessive about them. He was obsessive about Eve, hovering around, insisting on knowing where she was, with whom. She enjoyed that, mainly because she refused to account to him, and that would drive him crazy.” He glanced back to see her smiling. “Amused?”
“I’m sorry, it’s only that I’m—well, envious, I suppose, of the way she skillfully handles the men in her life.”
“Not always so skillfully,” he murmured, and didn’t return the smile. “I walked in on an argument once when he was raging at her, threatening her. I ordered him out of the house, even tried to toss him out myself, but his bodyguards were on me like lice. Eve had to break it up.”
Now there was no amusement, but a trickle of alarm and memory. Hadn’t Delrickio said something about it being a pity Eve hadn’t let him teach Paul respect? “You’d have been, what, about twenty?”
