Good Sister, The

by Diana Diamond

  But their nonchalance disappeared over the main course. Twice Padraig was seen to throw down his fork and yell that something or other was “out of the question” or simply “unacceptable.” Catherine was heard to raise her voice with “Use your head, Padraig. This isn’t a screenplay, this is real!” As dessert was being served, Catherine jumped up, apparently on the verge of tears, and rushed to the powder room. When she returned, people who had already paid their checks stayed pinned to their seats to see how the luncheon would wrap up.

  They weren’t disappointed. While eating the chocolate truffle cake, Catherine had suddenly snapped in a raised voice, “How can you say that? It’s simply not true!” Padraig had responded, “How would you know? You were out with the lighting crew.” At which point Catherine had lifted her dessert plate, weighted it for a second in the palm of her hand, then smashed it into Padraig’s face.

  The actor did his best take, letting the chocolate and whipped cream run down his chin while he ceremoniously folded his napkin and scraped the mousse out of his eyes. For her part, Catherine took her time folding her napkin and gathering her purse. She finished her coffee, took a final sip of her water, got up and left. She reached the front step just in time to run into the photographers and television crews that had rushed to cover the event.

  Catherine’s comment was that Padraig was too used to getting his way with women who were probably brain-dead to begin with. Padraig told reporters that Catherine’s artistic judgment came from painting by the numbers. There was little doubt that their torrid personal relationship and dazzling business partnership had come to an end. Catherine made a great show of processing her six bags of California clothing through ticketing, then caught the red-eye back to New York. Padraig went directly to his beach house and was seen sitting on his deck with a bottle of Scotch. He didn’t return phone calls.

  In the morning Catherine flashed through the Pegasus reception area in a neat-as-a-pin business suit, her face as fresh and rested as if she were returning from a spa rather than the infamous overnight flight from California. She made a visit to her sister’s office, where she told Jennifer how lucky they were to be rid of O’Connell. “He frustrates directors, infuriates actors, and thinks a budget is some sort of record that he has to surpass.” Catherine detailed the pleasure she had felt at grinding a pie into his “heroic face,” and swore that her partnership with him was over. “I went to bat for him every time he promised to get things under control,” she lamented, detailing the amount of funding she had brought to his efforts. “And then the bastard has the nerve to blame me for his own failure.”

  Jennifer found herself laughing at her sister’s rage. “Seems to me that you both got what you deserved. You screwed me over and then he screwed you over. What could be fairer?”

  “No, that’s not what happened,” Catherine corrected. “He screwed you over. But I got even. Padraig O’Connell is going down in flames, his movie shot out from under him. Believe me, he’s finished in Hollywood. We’re going to get most of our money back, and then we’re going to leave the bastard for dead.”

  She was even more confident when she got to Peter’s office. “Someone’s going to pick up that film for pocket change and make a killing,” she explained. “I think it ought to be us. If Pegasus buys it, we can offset our part of the loss and stick Padraig with his. What do you think?”

  He answered with a question. “Did Jennifer tell you that she’s planning to lend Padraig the money he needs to finish?”

  Catherine’s face fell. “For God’s sake! That little fool. He’ll take her to the cleaners.”

  “That’s about what I told her,” Peter said. “It’s a bad investment. But she thinks I’m biased. According to her, I’m the one who tampered with the brakes on Padraig’s car and hired the man who broke into your apartment.”

  “What?” Catherine looked amazed.

  “She also thinks I made a second attempt at Padraig when his helicopter went down. It strikes her as too much of a coincidence that I arrived there the day before.”

  Catherine rose slowly and wandered to the windows. He watched her as she stared out for a moment and then came back to the conference table. “Peter …” she began hesitantly, “I think that Jennifer may need some help. Medical, psychiatric, whatever.”

  He said nothing, but his expression showed she had his full attention.

  “I think she’s terribly … confused. Somehow Padraig comes through all this as her unblemished hero. You and I are the enemies?”

  He nodded. “Maybe she has reasons. You and I never wanted to see her and Padraig together.”

  “True, but her reasons go back a long way. Jennifer has this obsession that I’m out to ruin her life. She’s had it since we were children. Now she hates me for proving that Padraig was just after her money.”

  “You chose a rather heavy-handed way of making your point,” he reminded her. “From her viewpoint, you stole her husband.”

  She nodded. It was certainly true that Jennifer had every right to be furious with her. “But this goes further,” she said. Then she said, “Peter, I think Jennifer was behind the attempt on my life?”

  “Why would you think that?” he questioned.

  “For the same reasons that the police suspect her. The man worked in her gym, waited tables at her favorite coffee shop, and lived in her building. It’s just not credible that she never spoke to him and didn’t even remember seeing him.”

  “It happens in the city. I don’t know my next-door neighbor. I think the police understand those things.”

  “But there’s something the police don’t know. This isn’t the first time that Jennifer tried to kill me. Several years ago, when we were diving in Belize, she tried to pull out my air hose. And she had much less reason then for wanting me dead than she does now.”

  He was flabbergasted. “She tried to kill you?”

  Catherine nodded gravely. “She denied it. Even implied that I was reaching for her air hose. And, to be truthful, we were swimming very close to each other and it was confusing. But I know what I saw. There was no doubt in my mind that she wanted to rip the air line off my tank.”

  Peter took off his glasses and dangled them from his fingertips. “I’ve always felt the undercurrent between you and Jennifer. Maybe even a little jealousy, although I have no idea what either of you could be jealous of. You’re both so talented, both such attractive people. But … murder. I simply can’t believe it.”

  “I don’t want to believe it, either,” Catherine said. “But I no longer go to Jennifer’s apartment, and I don’t have her over to my place unless someone else is there. So I guess, deep down, I know that it’s true.”

  Peter stood, paused thoughtfully, and walked to a window. “I can’t believe what’s happened to us,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I always thought that when I left the company you and Jennifer would be a perfect management team, despite your differences.”

  “Left the company?” Catherine was shocked. “What are you talking about?”

  “My resignation. I’ve been thinking about it for some time. My work here is pretty well finished.” He refitted his glasses.

  “You can’t! Not now. You’ve never been more needed than you are now.”

  “No,” he answered calmly. “Lately, I’ve simply been in the way. I’ve made an enemy of Jennifer by trying to stop her from bringing in Padraig O’Connell. And I’ve made an enemy of you by blocking any more funding for Padraig’s company. Pegasus is your company, and I should be working for you and Jennifer. The fact is that I’m still working for your father. That has to stop.”

  “But not now,” Catherine pleaded. “You can’t walk out of here and leave me in partnership with someone who wants to kill me.”

  “I don’t believe Jennifer is capable of that. As for the business problems, the two of you will work them out.”

  Catherine was becoming frantic. “The two of us? You just said that she’s going to fund Padraig. Tha
t means there will be two of them against me.”

  “I can’t solve that problem. It’s not a business problem. It’s a personal problem that involves you and your sister. I blame myself because I should have nipped it in the bud. That’s what your father would have done, but I’m not your father. I’m a hired manager, and that doesn’t give me any right to get involved in your personal affairs.”

  “You can’t go now,” Catherine persisted.

  “I’ll give it another month,” he said. “But I’m not going to come between you and your sister, and I’m not going to take sides. If you ask me, I’ll tell you what I think. That gives you and Jennifer a month to decide what the real issues are.”

  Padraig O’Connell smiled when he heard that Jennifer was on the line. He took a sip of water and cleared his throat before he picked up the phone, then answered with his most charming Irish lilt. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “A business proposition,” Jennifer said, making no attempt to match his cordial tone. “I want to lend you some money at a very high interest rate. Say, nine percent.”

  “I can get eight from a bank,” he answered.

  “I’m not a bank.”

  “True,” he said. “And as you probably know already, the only thing the bank will give me is a home mortgage. So I guess I’ll pay you nine.” Then he asked how much she was planning on lending him.

  “How much do you need?”

  He purred for a few seconds. “Would ten million be out of the question?”

  “It would. I’ve done my homework, and it looks as if you need five.”

  “Five? That wouldn’t get me back to even.”

  Jennifer laughed. “I’m not proposing to pay your bar bill. Just editing and music. If we make a profit, then you can get back to even.”

  “Done,” he announced. “Where do I sign?”

  “The paperwork will come by overnight messenger. The check will follow as soon as I get the signed note.”

  “Jennifer,” he said before she could hang up, “thank you. I’ve made a great many mistakes recently, but you weren’t one of them.”

  The phone clicked dead in his hand.

  Jennifer still hadn’t signed the divorce agreement. In fact, she hadn’t touched it since her attorney had left it on her desk. She had been happy with Padraig in their brief time together. And it wasn’t simply that she had enjoyed the moments of celebrity that came from holding his hand. Padraig had given her a new vision of herself. When she saw herself reflected in his eyes, she was a totally different person than she was used to seeing in mirrors.

  He made her aware of her beauty. She had always thought that she was as plain as water next to her glamorous sister. Catherine’s face glowed with vitality and her smile was rapturous, while Jennifer was bland and serious. But Padraig had dismissed the superficial beauty and glamour surrounding him as being nothing more than decoration. He had seemed enthralled at the truth of Jennifer’s appearance.

  He had brought out her personality. Jennifer had often thought she was socially inadequate. Catherine moved confidently among the world’s cultural and charitable leaders, while Jennifer was alone, curled up with a book. Yet Padraig seemed to find everything she said interesting and talked to her with the certainty that she knew and appreciated what he was saying.

  He had given her love. Jennifer had no idea what Catherine felt in the arms of a man, but she had always suspected that it must be more intoxicating and fulfilling than anything she had experienced. Her adult affairs had been few, never earthshaking, and usually boring. Each had ended in mutual unspoken admissions of lack of interest. But Padraig had brought her to the heights of ecstasy and, just as important, had seemed to travel with her every step of the way. Not only was she capable of being loved, but she was an exciting and provocative lover herself.

  She had harbored few illusions about Padraig. No one would ever take the place in his heart that he had reserved for himself. No one would ever claim his undivided attention or win his unwavering loyalty. He would never settle into a quiet, comfortable relationship with one woman because there was no woman who could fill all his needs. But a single piece of Padraig O’Connell was more exciting and more satisfying than the whole of any other man she had known. By signing the divorce document, she would lose even that small piece.

  And yet she couldn’t just forgive. He had wounded her terribly and then abandoned her for a public celebration with another woman. He must have known how deeply she was hurt by the publicity he generated with Catherine on his arm. He had to understand how painful it was for her to sit through meetings where his business venture with her sister was discussed. He had left her to suffer without an apology or even a word of explanation. All he had offered was a hint that he hadn’t been given a choice, and that what he had done had been necessary to save his new career.

  She had reasons to love him and more reasons to hate him, but she felt neither. Instead, she felt curiosity. Had he ever really loved her? Did he really intend to hurt her? Of all the things he had said to her, which had been true and which had been lies? Could they ever be together again, or was the tear in their relationship too wide and too ragged to ever be repaired?

  Jennifer couldn’t even explain why she was offering the money he needed. She felt sure that she wasn’t simply trying to buy her way back into his affections. She had no intentions of using the debt to dominate him or embarrass him. Nor was it the simple business deal that she pretended. It was, as Peter had warned her, a bad investment. The odds were that she wouldn’t get her money back. But on the other hand, she didn’t want Padraig to sink just because Peter and her sister had opened the seacocks in the bilge. If his movie failed, it should be because he had made a bad movie, not because Catherine and Peter didn’t like him and couldn’t trust him.

  So, did she love him or hate him? The truth was that she really didn’t know. And that was why she was now the one dragging her feet on their divorce, and probably why she was the only investor who had come to his rescue. She simply had to know what was left between Padraig and herself, and she needed time to find out.

  SEVENTEEN

  JENNIFER THOUGHT she recognized the voice that called up from the lobby the next evening. “FedEx. An overnight letter for Jennifer Pegan.”

  “Who’s it from?”

  She listened to paper shuffling. “O’Connell, from West Hollywood, California. Signature required.”

  Jennifer remembered the note that Padraig was to sign and return. She buzzed the messenger into the building, then waited idly until her doorbell rang. “FedEx,” the voice repeated when she asked. She looked through the peephole and saw an express envelope blocking her view of the person. She hooked the chain and unlocked the deadbolt. Padraig’s face appeared in the crack of the door.

  “I’m not sure whether I give you the package first or you have to sign first,” he said. “So I’ll give you the clipboard and keep the package, and then we can swap when you’re finished signing.”

  Despite herself, Jennifer had to laugh. Who but Padraig would deliver an overnight package personally? She closed the door and unlocked the chain. He burst into the room with his familiar joyous gait. He had staged a miraculous recovery from the whipped dog that had dragged his tail in on his last visit.

  “Are you crazy …” she started to ask, but then she answered her own question. “Yes, of course you are. Why would there be any doubt?”

  “I need only a moment of your time,” he said, handing her the envelope. She kept her eyes on him as she tore it open. On top was the loan note, duly signed and notarized. Below it was a publicity photo of Padraig, posed in the blazer and golf shirt generally worn by his international spy character. He had signed it, “To my favorite ex-wife, with love, Padraig.”

  “I had a few hundred of these made up,” he explained. “Ex-wives are an important faction in my fan club.”

  “I won’t have the check until tomorrow,” she said, still standing in her foyer. Sh
e had made no gesture to invite him inside.

  “Then I’ll wait until tomorrow. Okay with you if I sleep here?”

  “Not a chance,” she answered.

  “I didn’t mean in your bed. Just a pillow and the use of one of your sofas.”

  “That’s what I thought you meant when I said there wasn’t a chance.”

  “Well, perhaps a cup of tea then. That’s substandard hospitality even for ex-husbands.”

  Jennifer smiled. “Okay, tea. Or if you’d rather a nip of your Scotch …”

  “God, but you’re clairvoyant! You can see to the bottom of my soul.”

  “The bottle is right where you left it, so you can fix it yourself,” Jennifer said. Then she added, “And by the way, Padraig, you don’t have any soul.”

  He returned from her bar with two drinks over ice.

  “None for me,” Jennifer said forcefully.

  He looked disappointed. Then he said, “Well, we’ll just have to make lemonade out of the lemons.” He poured her drink into his and set the empty glass back on the bar. As he was crossing to join her in the living room, he noticed the familiar document still waiting on the desk where he had signed it. He went to it and flipped through to the signature page. The line for her signature was still blank.

  “You really ought to sign this,” he told her. “Unless, of course, you’d like to reconsider.”

  “I’m saving it for the divorce party,” she answered. “We’re going to have champagne and a cake.”

  He tasted his drink, nodded his approval, then took a bigger sip. “Would you like me to jump out of the cake?”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve already hired a skunk.”

  “Ouch!” Padraig winced. “You’ve left powder burns and bloodstains. But, I truly have been something of a …” He paused, grasping for the right word.