Whispers of the Heart

by Stephanie Wilson

  "I always hated that ring," Erika exploded to her empty office. But, as if in spite, the photograph continued to glare back at her. She knew most of her friends had been envious of the glorious jewel, but Erika thought the diamond ostentatious. It was the symbol of Steve Caslin; too much and overdone.

  Steve had been so delighted to place that horrendous ring on her finger. Erika truly believed he was in love with her, was only excited to announce their good news to the world. Now, she knew why he had insisted on making a production of their engagement. The Press had gathered for the charity event. It was appearance and publicity. That's all it ever was. Publicly linking the Caslin name to Erika Crawford was a boon to his future, for the Crawford wealth was known the world over.

  Fortunately, Erika had been able to keep the engagement secret for several months. Only her Uncle Lawrence and a few close friends had been privy. Each had given a solemn vow to keep the confidentiality. Erika had wanted to plan her storybook wedding privately. To enjoy each and every moment of the bliss from having her satin gown designed to choosing the engraved invitations and floral arrangements.

  An engagement party was out of the question. Erika did not want to publicly announce the engagement until a week before the invitations would go out. She didn’t want the Press broadcasting intimate details of her life. Steve, of course, was outraged. He wanted the world, especially the Press, to know about his success. Erika, however, had been able to keep him subdued with the promise of an announcement at one of Beverly Hill’s most prestigious events of the year. All the socially elite would attend the annual Saint Luke Hospital Charity Ball held at the Opera House.

  Over and over in her mind rung the words of Southern California's most read gossip column: "The Los Angeles World has just uncovered a juicy secret. In one short year, Erika Crawford has maneuvered what most women her age only dream of. It is general knowledge that the petite beauty with raven colored hair will soon rein as President of Capital Textiles, one of the nation’s largest textile manufacturing companies, a subsidiary of Crawford Industries. Now she has a rock the size of an Easter Egg to boot. It appears that Crawford has been secretly engaged to one of Beverly Hills' most notorious bachelors, Steve Caslin, also a Crawford executive. Reportedly the wedding will take place six weeks from Saturday. Friends of the heiress however may have to wait for their coveted invitation a bit longer than Emily Post suggests while LA World wonders if all isn’t well in paradise. Sources close to the couple say they haven’t been seen together since an outburst at the Saint Luke Party. Is it wedding jitters or a roving eye? Caslin is known for his attraction to women with questionable careers and has perhaps found Crawford’s millions a little cold beneath the sheets. Caslin has since been seen in the company of former girlfriend Heidi Owens.”

  "Knock, knock and top of the morning to you," bubbled Erika's assistant, Ellie, successfully breaking her reverie. "Oh ... I see you've read Garcia’s latest gossip column. Don’t worry. Anyone who knows the two of you will chalk it up to ... well, you know ... jealousy. It’s obvious how much you two are in love,” she said flippantly as if the mess would evaporate on its own.

  "The photograph, however, was stupendous. The secretaries on our floor have taken a consensus this morning. We think it’s the best yet! In fact, I think the girls and I will have it framed, you know, to remind you that it isn't nice to keep secrets," she winked conspiratorially. "'Course, I couldn't tell them I already knew. I had no idea you had planned to announce your engagement at the Saint Luke party! A stroke of genius. Yours or his?” Ellie questioned unnecessarily.

  Dropping a large bundle of mail on Erika's glass-topped desk Ellie hurried to catch a buzzing telephone. “Oh,” she called over her shoulder, “I have two calls into Cromwell, and this could be him. Are you ready to take his call?”

  At Erika’s nod, Ellie bustled away. Fortunately, it was a question from Crawford’s accounting firm and one that Ellie could handle without Erika’s assistance.

  Ellie, who was Erika's senior by only three years, had worked closely with the young protégé when Erika came to work for the family empire. Ellie had always stood up for Erika when other Crawford employees sneered at her placement on the management staff. "Is she the resident party planner," they had chided. Ellie seemingly felt kinship with Erika, a bond strengthened through difficult situations, hard work and ultimately undeniable success.

  For Erika, Ellie was indispensable. Never once had she complained over long hours, heavy pressure from Corporate or stiff deadlines. For the last five years, not a morning had gone by where Ellie had not barged into Erika's office oozing enthusiasm with the accolade, "Top of the morning to you!"

  After graduating from the University of Southern California with a master's degree in business, Erika had been assigned her first office on the fourth floor of the massive Crawford Industries skyscraper. Over the next five years, she had moved three floors to her present office on the seventh floor. Each move produced a larger, more exquisite office suite and more business acumen. That Erika had an unequaled head for business was rarely disputed. Her genius was the ability to lock in bottom rate prices on raw material to produce top quality product that was directly marketed to the consumer. Under Erika’s leadership a new popular line of home textiles had taken the nation by storm.

  And with each move Ellie had championed Erika’s success. In many ways, Ellie was the sister Erika had always longed for but never had. The corporate board often said that Erika and Ellie made the finest team at Crawford Industries.

  Erika’s determination to prove her worth had resulted in resounding success, not only on the bottom line of monthly Profit and Loss Statements but as a woman of personal substance. After five years, President of Capital Textiles, Samuel Bernstein, announced early retirement. His recommendation to Crawford Industries board was that Erika Crawford be appointed his successor.

  In a few short weeks, Erika would become President of a textile giant. It was unheard of for a woman so young to be granted such a position. Capital executives agreed on her ability but disagreed on the timing of her promotion. Erika, however, was confident in her ability to lead the textile industry with an innovative style of leadership and substantial profit growth. Continued market penetration in the United States and expanded presence in the European Community would guarantee that success. It was all so exciting. If only Erika could get her personal life in order, it truly would be a "paradise".

  "Ellie," Erika called, stepping outside her exquisitely carpeted office. "Please call Uncle Lawrence's office and tell his secretary I need to speak with him right away. It's urgent," she said quietly turning to put her cup of untouched coffee on a nearby table.

  Riding the elevator to the thirty-second floor of the elegant, glass paneled high-rise building in Century Plaza; Erika rehearsed what she would say to her uncle.

  With complete concentration on her task at hand, Erika failed to notice her elevator companion, a new intern from the mailroom. The young man watched with intense interest as Erika nervously tucked stubborn strands of hair into the elegant French twist she always wore to the office. It had become, in essence, her trademark. Elegant, understated and conservative.

  Standing outside a heavy, hand-carved mahogany door bearing the name Lawrence C. Bancroft in gilded letters, Erika took a deep breath. Gingerly running fingers across the lettering she thought with fondness; Uncle Lawrence, CEO of Crawford Industries and adopted father. He is all those things and more. He is the embodiment of everything good in my life she breathed.

  Preparing to relive the memory wasn't easy. Tears still sprang too easily. After a week, Erika still smarted at her humiliated pride. The meeting would be an emotional ordeal, she knew. Uncle Lawrence was understandably protective. He had, after all, assumed her parentage and leadership of Crawford after her own parents were killed in a plane crash when she was just a tiny child.

  "Are you too busy to talk to a long-lost relative, Uncle Lawrence," she joked nervously.
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br />   "Heaven forbid, I'm never too busy to talk to you, my favorite niece," he replied adopting her humor. Then more seriously, "Let me finish one notation and page Earlene. I'm closely monitoring purchases of Crawford stock and that obviously multiples my paperwork. Any word yet on the Cromwell deal? As soon as we can document that secret, it will revolutionize the industry, not to mention our profit margin.”

  After receiving a brief negative nod, Lawrence quickly reached for the telephone receiver, giving explicit instructions to his assistant on who he would and would not take calls from for the next hour.

  Finally, Lawrence turned to his niece, and with one glance knew that something was wrong. In fact, unless he missed his guess, something devastating had happened and she was even now trying to decide how to break the news to him. He recognized the distressed look as it crossed her perfectly shaped face.

  Through the years, he had seen that very same look countless times. It seemed like only yesterday when she had come to him, eight years old he believed, tears streaming down her face as she tried to decide how to tell him that she had accidentally run her horse through Mrs. Verdigree’s prized rose garden, trampling the hybrid she and her husband had been developing. It was those problems Lawrence had found easily remedied. Now, he wasn’t sure this problem could be fixed as easily. Silently he prayed for guidance as he studied the expression that twisted her uncommon and exquisite beauty.

  Wanting to stall and delay the inevitable conversation, Erika circled to the back of her uncle's leather chair. Wrapping her slender arms around his neck, she said affectionately, "Mom and Dad would be so proud to know how you have taken their enterprise and made it into a world-wide empire. I'm proud of you, too," she whispered as she gently kissed the top of his balding head.

  With tiny tears appearing in the corner of his dove gray eyes, Lawrence replied," Your mother, my sister, was one of the most important things in my life. We were the only family we had. You know, you look more and more like her everyday,” he said while gently patting her hand.

  Sniffing loudly to clear the growing lump in his throat, Lawrence continued. "When we were small children, I protected her, I looked after her. Now that she is gone ... well, this corporation is her namesake. I have to protect it ... kind of a living memorial to her," he said gruffly.

  "Enough of this sentiment, Erika," he said while grabbing her hands and leading her to a luxurious leather couch across the spacious room. Again, Lawrence cleared his throat to cover his emotion.

  "I've known you long enough to know that something isn't quite right, Erika Crawford," he said gruffly.

  "Well, I need to take some time off,” she began slowly while biting her lower pink lip. “I need to take some … extended time.”

  Patient confusion registered on Lawrence's kindly face as he began to pace the length of his office overlooking Century City in Beverly Hills.

  "What does Steve have to say about this? After all, you will be taking your honeymoon in six weeks’ time and with the transition in textiles, the upcoming wedding and the shareholders meeting, I don't see how you can handle it all "in absentia."

  Bolstering her courage and schooling her features to reveal little of her humiliation and hurt, Erika steadied herself for the blow.

  "The wedding has been called off, Uncle Lawrence...”

  "What!" he exploded.

  Erika, of course, had anticipated his reaction and knew better than anyone his dislike of sudden change.

  "Steve is one of the brightest young executives we have. He has a significant future. He understands our lifestyle and values. He will love you as you deserve to be loved," Lawrence said.

  Sliding her petite hands into his capable warm palms, he spoke in a reassuring tone.

  "Darling, you are just suffering from the oldest ailment in history, cold feet! Don't be hasty, honey, give yourself a few days and I'm confident you will come to your senses. You're a smart girl."

  "Uncle Lawrence, you don't understand," she replied firmly. "I don't need a few days. I've made up my mind. It's over.”

  "Erika," he said with exasperation. "What on earth could have happened that would make you throw it all away? I've watched the two of you together. You've been so happy!"

  With a look of wise understanding beginning to dawn on his wrinkled face Lawrence said almost to himself, "perhaps it's this transition in textiles."

  Obviously coming to a sound and logical conclusion, Lawrence crossed his office and seated himself behind his immense South American mahogany desk.

  "I'm going to call Sam Bernstein and tell him to hold off retirement for a few more months. You have worked so hard over the last couple of years and I am proud of you, darling, but this position will be waiting for you. It was bad timing anyway with your wedding around the corner. I should have realized this," he said with finality.

  "No, Uncle!" Erika wildly exclaimed. "It isn't that...”

  Erika started as her uncle's door swished open to admit Ellie.

  "Excuse me, Erika, but I have Mr. Cromwell on the line. You asked me to let you know when he returned the call.”

  "Oh, Ellie, just take a message. I can’t talk to him right now," Erika replied somewhat frustrated.

  "Well, okay," she said hesitantly, "but, as you know, they are very hard to reach. I don't know when I can reach them again and this is a critical time in the negotiation process," Ellie reminded.

  "You're right. Give the call to Mark Hillston, he's been briefed on their file and can handle it for me. The Cromwell’s know him."

  "Sure thing. Sorry to interrupt but I thought it was important," Ellie explained as she quietly closed the heavy door.

  "Hum ... I've never seen Ellie breach policy like that and walk into my office unannounced. Why didn't she have you paged or at least have Earlene interrupt if it was that important? As you know, I feel very uncomfortable with that kind of thing,” Lawrence challenged.

  "I suppose she thought it was too important to go through the regular channels. You know how much I trust her, Uncle Lawrence," Erika lightly reminded him all the while making a mental note of the incident.

  "Well, as I was saying ... Erika," Lawrence began again, "all I have ever wanted was your happiness. You are the only daughter I will ever have. When your parents died, I did my best to make sure you had everything you needed ... love ... security. But, I wasn't able to meet all your needs," he sighed heavily.

  Turning to stare into the past, Lawrence continued, "You needed a mother for all those extras. I'm sorry I wasn't able to provide you with one."

  Lawrence's eyes clouded, as they always did, when he spoke of Elizabeth, his long-ago fiancée who died of leukemia. Erika had learned to endure the questions older women in the charity league plagued her with. Married and unmarried, she mused; they were all drawn to Lawrence Bancroft. The quiet strength and demure, rich, sophisticated looks were very alluring. He appeared the man he was; successful, hard working and conscientious.

  Although the long hours behind a desk and the stress of presiding over a major enterprise such as Crawford was beginning to show in the lines creasing his face, it was his character that drew people to him. The fact that he never courted anyone made him that much more sought after, Erika knew. But Lawrence never had eyes for any of them. It had always been and always would be, Elizabeth.

  "Uncle Lawrence," Erika said gently breaking into his revelry. "It isn't you..."

  "No wait, Erika, let me finish," he said immediately regaining his earlier composure. "You are the most important person to me. I don't want to see you end up like me ... lonely and old. You deserve to have the love and support of a family, of a husband. The twinkle in your eyes has told me that Steve could do this for you."

  "Now," he continued, "this ... breakup,” Lawrence waved expansively, “it seems so sudden. I just don't understand."

  "It is sudden," she said softly rising from the couch for the first time and crossing to the panoramic windows, gazing unseeing at the fast-paced t
raffic below. An audible sigh escaped Erika’s lips as she prepared to tell her uncle the awful incident. Wrapping slender arms around herself, Erika delved into the painful pool that her tears had created.

  “Last weekend at the charity ball, there was an incident.” Erika paused giving her uncle time to recollect the event. At his nod, she continued. “There was the engagement announcement and that seemed to be fine. Steve treated me like a … princess.”

  “Yes, my darling, and you looked exquisite! I was so proud of you,” Lawrence commended.

  “Thank you, Uncle. That was because I thought I was in love. Now I’m not sure that what I felt was love at all. When it can erode so quickly, the conclusion must be that I never loved him in the first place ... but I’m getting way ahead of myself.”

  “As you can recall,” Erika continued as the evening once again became crystal clear in her memory, “the champagne flowed very freely that night. Well, Steve completely over-indulged. I have never seen him take more than one glass of wine at dinner - he is always so conscious of the impression he is making on people. Anyway, quite some time after you had left I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room hoping again to convince Steve that we needed to leave. When I returned, I couldn’t find Steve anywhere. After several inquiries, I found him in the Coat Room.”

  She paused as the horrifying event once again played like a motion picture across her mind. She could smell the mustiness of the enclosed room, the overwhelming heat … she could feel her heart freeze and then burn as if incinerated. The daze and stress of planning her perfect wedding had clouded her judgment … her instincts. Finally, it was as if someone had ripped the veil that shielded the light.

  “Yes,” her Uncle Lawrence gently prodded.

  Shaking her head to clear the memory, Erika continued.

  “He wasn’t alone. I don’t think he’s ever alone,” she added bitterly. “There was a woman, and I doubt she was an invited guest,” she said ironically. “They were … engaged,” she found herself explaining not willing to label the encounter, even to herself. “He was consoling her, pleading with her to be patient. Telling her … it was only a matter of weeks until he had his hands around the Crawford millions. And when she continued to complain … I heard him tell her that I was just an ice maiden, someone he loathed to look at, let alone touch.”