The vague daydream had crystallized into a plan, a few years ago. Obviously, the first step was to locate the perfect catch. She read countless social and business magazines. Through ingenuity and determination, she made friends with all the right people—or at least with a few powerful men. She went to all the right places, and while playing the role of the contented wealthy man's mistress, she kept her eyes open.
In the end, it was Scott Wilson, her latest lover, very well connected, rich, and married, who inadvertently caused her to notice Bill Brandon. She remembered the scene.
They were having lunch at Twenty-One, and Scott was in one of his frequent foul moods.
“I don't see why you had to buy an original. I can't believe you did that, going to Sotheby's and just charging an antique bed to my account. The department stores are full of perfectly good copies. Why in heavens do you always have to get the most expensive of everything?”
Listen, you foul-breathed old man, why do you think I sleep with you if it's not for your money? Anne wanted to answer. Instead, she pouted prettily. “But darling, this is our bed you're talking about.” She smiled suggestively. “I wouldn't expect the best lover in the world to sleep on anything but the real thing.”
The way she said it, Scott wasn’t sure whether the best lover in the world referred to him or to her. He chose to believe she meant him, and his mood lifted slightly.
“Still, you shouldn't go and charge such a large amount to my account without consulting me,” he added sullenly.
What do you think I am, stupid? You would have said no. Then where would I have been? “Maybe you're right sweetheart. I guess I just got carried away.”
At that moment, a couple walked by and sat at the next table. Scott, who usually behaved as if he were royalty, never acknowledging anyone unless they greeted him first, craned his neck, trying to catch the man's attention. Anne was astonished.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“That,” he whispered, “is William Brandon. Have you ever heard of him?”
She shook her head.
“He is probably one of the richest men in the country. But I’m not surprised you’ve never heard his name. Few have. He keeps a very low profile.”
“How do you know about him?”
“I sold him some land a few years ago. When I checked his credit references, I found out he owns half the state. The way his company has been growing, I would not be surprised if he owned half the country by now. And I had never even heard of him,” he concluded, amazed that anyone so rich could have escaped his attention.
Anne's eyes wandered over to William Brandon. He was tall and well dressed, but the expensive Brooks Brothers' suit did not disguise the man's doughy body. His hair was gray and receding. His features were strong, hinting that he must once have been a handsome man. Interesting!
She glanced at the woman sitting across from him. Time had been kinder to her. Somewhere in her mid-forties, she was a few pounds overweight but still looked fashionable in a stylish suit. Schiaparelli, Anne noted expertly. Her eyes dropped automatically to the woman's left hand. The wife, she concluded. Then the woman moved her hand slightly and Anne got a full frontal view of the diamond. It was the largest she had ever seen. Good God! At least six carats—maybe more. Suddenly Bill Brandon looked very attractive. Very attractive indeed!
Once Anne had found her target, her plan moved forward at a dizzying speed. With one quick anonymous telephone call, she arranged for Scott's wife to 'accidentally' find out about her. As expected, the next evening Scott arrived for dinner at their favorite restaurant, looking harried.
“Are you feeling all right? You look terrible.” Anne's question was sincere. Scott did look ill.
“I have to talk to you about something.” His voice quivered.
Oh please! Spare me the tears. “What's wrong?” she asked with just the right amount of concern.
“It's Rosemary. She's found out about us.”
“Don't make it sound like it's the end of the world. It's not as though you weren't planning to tell her eventually.”
“Sweetheart, you just don't understand. The children are still so young.”
“For God’s sake, Scott, the children are seventeen and twenty-three. Just how old are they supposed to be before you leave her?” She managed to make her voice sound choked. That's it, create a scene. It will drive him crazy.
“Anne, please don't make a scene. You know I can't stand that kind of behavior.”
Anne looked down at her untouched plate of poached salmon in Hollandaise. Think of something sad. Quick! A memory came flooding back, unbidden and unexpected. She was sixteen years old and her mother was telling her that she could not get a new dress for her graduation. Surprisingly, her eyes filled with tears. Good! Think some more. Details she had long forgotten emerged. Her, yelling that it was unfair, that she would be the only girl in the entire class without a white graduation dress. Her mother, trying to explain that since her father had lost his job, they could not afford many of the things they used to take for granted.
Now her tears flowed freely.
“Please, Anne. You know I love you. This is just the wrong time.”
You’ve got that right. Your time just ran out. “How am I going to live without you? I love you, Scott.” Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “What about my apartment? I can't afford it by myself.”
“How much do you need?” Looking relieved, Scott pulled out his checkbook. “Will a thousand dollars be enough?” Anne broke into uncontrolled weeping. Scott was almost beside himself. “Will you please stop? People are looking. Listen, just tell me how much you need. Two thousand?”
By the time the waiter came over with the bill, Anne had managed to jack the amount up to ten thousand dollars, a fortune, and Scott was in a hurry to leave.
Later, he dropped her off at her apartment with some reassuring words. “Don't worry baby, as soon as things cool down at home, I'll call you back.”
Don't bother sweetheart. I won't need you anymore. “I don't know if I can wait too long,” she replied, her eyes still pink and swollen from crying. He moved closer to kiss her and she began to sob loudly. He hesitated for a moment, then climbed back into his Lotus Mark Three and drove off.
“Good riddance!” Anne spat out the words. As soon as his car was out of sight, she ran upstairs to her apartment. She was so excited, she wanted to sing and dance.
Back in her apartment, she counted the zeros on the check, and then spent the next half hour worrying about where to hide it. This deserves a celebration. After a festive dinner of hard boiled eggs, caviar, and one of Scott's bottles of Perrier Jouet, she poured herself a second glass of champagne and sat down to do some serious thinking.
Now the question is, how do I get William Brandon? By her third glass of champagne, the shape of a plan was beginning to form. The more she thought about it, the more she believed it would work.
In a fever of excitement, she picked up the telephone and dialed. A familiar voice answered.
“Jason Stoddart,” she said, her voice low and caressing. “It's been a long time.”
The voice at the other end answered congenially. “Well! Colin! What a surprise.” Then in a furious whisper, it continued. “What the hell are you calling me here for? You should know better than that.”
“I just want to ask you for an itty-bitty little favor. You can do that, can't you? For old time's sake?”
There was silence at the other end, and then the voice picked up pleasantly. “Of course I'd be delighted to hear about any business ideas you might have Colin. What have you got in mind?”
Two weeks later, armed with an impressive list of credentials and references, one from each of the many companies belonging to good old Jason Stoddart, Anne Turner walked into William Brandon & Company.
“Hi, I'm here to apply for the secretarial position.”
“How did you know about the position? I just gave my notice yesterday and the job won't even
be advertised for another few days,” said the secretary, an attractive brunette in a conservative suit, much like the one Anne was wearing. “I haven't even contacted the personnel agencies yet.”
“You're leaving to work for Mr. Jason Stoddart, aren't you? I applied for that job, too. I called them this morning to find out if I had the position and they told me it had already been filled. It occurred to me that whoever was hired was probably leaving another interesting position. Mr. Stoddart was kind enough to tell me where you worked. I took the chance of coming right over. Whom should I talk to?”
Anne sat in the reception area and waited. It was nearly an hour and a half before she was ushered into Mr. Brandon's office. The wait was well worth it. Brandon took one look at her and his eyes lit up.
“Susan told me how you found out about this job. That took a lot of initiative on your part. I like that.”
Too bad I can't tell you the real story. You would be really impressed. “Thank you, Mr. Brandon. I believe luck is not something that just happens. It's something you create.”
“Have a seat Miss…?”
“Turner. Anne Turner.” Anne sat, and crossed her long slender legs. Bill Brandon could not peel his eyes away from them.
“Can you type?”
“Eighty-five words per minute.” She focused her large blue eyes on him and smiled. From that moment on, Bill Brandon did not stand a chance.
During the next twelve months, there were days when Anne doubted she had the patience to follow her plan to completion. She sometimes remembered how much easier her life had been when she had rich lovers fulfilling her every financial whim. Even combined with the interest from the ten thousand dollars in her savings account, her income was only a fraction of what she was used to spending. At those times, Anne closed her eyes and pictured all those Brandon houses going up everywhere in the country, and the thousands of dollars each one of them brought in. Just thinking about all that money gave her goose bumps. Bill Brandon, she reminded herself, had exactly what it took to make her one very happy woman.
The only problem was that in the year since she had started working for him, her employer seemed to have no more than a professional interest in her. I'll just have to lend fate a hand, she decided. By midsummer, Anne Turner decided the time was ripe.
The weather report predicted one of the hottest days in recorded history. As usual, Anne chose an irreproachably proper outfit—a navy skirt and classic matching jacket, worn over a high collared, long-sleeved blouse. Although the style of the blouse was chaste, the fabric was sheer and allowed a hint of the lacy brassiere.
At lunchtime, taking advantage of a moment when everyone was out, Anne went down to the furnace room. Two minutes later, there was a loud clanking and the air conditioner stopped. The silence seemed to reverberate though the building. Anne hurried back to her desk.
By midafternoon, the temperature indoors had shot up to nearly ninety degrees. Throughout the office, jackets had long been discarded and everybody was down to their shirtsleeves. When Bill Brandon called her into his office for dictation, Anne powdered her face until she looked as pale as death. Then she went in.
“Take this down for me. It's a letter to—are you feeling well Miss Turner? You seem a bit faint.”
Anne looked up at her overweight and unappealing boss, and smiled weakly. “I'm fine, sir. It's just so hot in here. I shouldn’t have worn this long-sleeved blouse today. Please, go ahead.”
“If you're sure you're all right.” He continued. “Dear Sir…”
Bill Brandon spoke slowly, keeping a concerned eye on the lovely Anne Turner. Since she started working for him, he often caught himself fantasizing about his delicious-looking secretary. The fact that her clothes were always so demure only added mystery to the enchanting creature. With an effort, he chased away the impure thoughts that danced through his mind.
Bill Brandon had been married for nearly twenty-five years. During those years, he had built his business into an empire. He prided himself knowing this was largely due to his unshakable determination. As far as Brandon was concerned, the same commitment he brought to growing his company, he also brought to his marriage. Not once since their wedding vows had he ever seriously considered leaving his wife. Having an affair, now that was different. An occasional fling doesn't count, Bill Brandon told himself. What a wife doesn't know won't hurt her.
He noticed Anne's lacy brassiere showing through the shear fabric of her shirt and he felt himself blush. He pulled at his shirt collar, which, until moments ago had not seemed so tight. He cleared his throat and continued. “Where was I? Oh, yes. For the past fourteen years, the Chase Manhattan Bank has…”
Anne suddenly gave a small moan and her eyes fluttered. She slowly slid off her chair and onto the floor. Her blonde hair settled artfully around her exquisite face.
“Miss Turner! Anne!” Bill Brandon was in a panic. He leaned over the young woman and felt for her pulse. What was it she said? Something about feeling hot? He quickly unbuttoned her blouse and his eyes wandered to the full breasts straining against the lacy fabric of her underwear. At that moment, Anne stirred and the bra, which she had conveniently weakened at the seam, fell apart disclosing the most appetizing pair of pink nipples he had ever seen. Anne's eyes fluttered open and her arms wrapped themselves around him.
Almost before he knew what was happening, the middle-aged man found himself on his walnut partner's desk, making wild and passionate love to the irresistible Anne Turner who, as if by enchantment, had fully recovered.
Over the next few months, Anne tightened the net around her prey. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she made herself indispensable to her employer. She took care of all the details in his life.
“Don't worry about birth control, Bill. That's my responsibility. I'll use a diaphragm.”
“But you don't have to worry. I…”
“I insist. You have so many things to worry about.”
“If it makes you feel better.”
“It does. You look tired, Bill. Let me give you a back rub.”
“Ahhh! What would I do without you?” replied William Brandon as Anne massaged his non-existent trapezoids.
She smiled her appreciation. “Isn't tomorrow your wedding anniversary, Bill?”
“Damn! I forgot about it. Mildred will kill me.”
“Don't worry about it. You have so much to do, why don't you let me run out during lunch and pick up something for her?”
“You are amazing. Do you know that?”
She blew him a kiss and walked out of his office.
I cannot believe how lucky I am. His gaze followed her with adoration. And she doesn't even want anything for herself. He pushed away the mild feelings of guilt that stirred in the back of his mind.
At lunchtime, Anne rushed over to Saks fur department. “Do you have a platinum mink in a size twenty?”
The salesgirl left and reappeared moments later with the perfect coat. It was the most unflattering thing Anne had ever seen. She could just imagine how it would look on Mildred Brandon.
“Perfect. I'll take it. Please charge it to William Brandon’s account.” She pulled out her employer's authorization letter. “Could you please have it delivered to the following address?”
Mildred Brandon sat on the silk needle-point chair and tapped her foot impatiently on the marble floor. William Brandon faced his wife's anger with puzzlement.
“It looks like a perfectly nice coat to me. I don't understand why you're so upset.”
She stood and stormed over to the discarded coat. “Look at the size of this.” She lifted it by the shawl collar before letting it fall back down to the floor. “For goodness sake, do you think I'm fat? I know I should lose a few pounds but…” She bit her lip and muffled a sob. “And a platinum mink! Those are for old women. Is that how you see me, as an old woman?”
Bill Brandon looked at his wife in surprise. It had been ages since he had really looked at her. She is an old woman. His mind w
andered to Anne and her perfect young body. The guilt resurfaced. “Of course not, Mildred. You know I love you.” His eyes, however, were devoid of any such emotion.
“So, did you have a nice weekend?” asked Anne on the following Monday as she stirred the sugar in Bill Brandon's coffee.
“Yes, yes. Not bad.” There was hesitation in his voice. He sipped his coffee and sighed.
“Not bad?” She repeated, making it sound like a question. She knew her man well. It would only take a bit of prodding to get the juicy details.
“Mildred hated the coat.” He looked apologetic.
Scorpio Rising Page 13
