Any Given Moment (The Alexandra Chronicles Book 3)

by Laura Van Wormer

  He nodded. "That was a mistake, but you're quite right, it was done without my knowledge."

  “And then there was the stealing of files."

  He shook his head. "There was no stealing of files. The media's got that all balled up."

  Georgiana made a mental note to tell Alexandra that DBS News had gotten things all balled up. "And now there is this lawsuit against Dorothy and Henry, at a time when Dorothy is very ill."

  "The suit is pure formality, Georgiana," he said, "you must know that. Whenever there is trouble in a business merger, certain procedures must be followed if one party won't honor their end of the agreement."

  "Are you saying that the Hillingses somehow violated their agreement?"

  "Oh, yes," he said quickly. "They violated the agreement on a number of points. The problem was, someone at ICA New York got fed up with them and went ahead and impounded the offices. As charming as the Hillingses are, there is a reason why they have been so successful over the years."

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "Henry and Dorothy Hillings are very, very good at what they do, and this was not the first time they tried to angle themselves out of an agreement because they couldn't control the deal. As a matter of fact, they have a long record of reneging on agreements if, for example, they did not like a certain producer or director the studio wanted to use on a particular adaptation of a book. Why people have let them get away with it for so long, I'm not sure. It could be that Ben was far more sympathetic to the Hillingses than he should have been."

  Georgiana looked at him for a long moment. What he said had the ring of truth to it. Of course the Hillingses always tried to represent the best interests of their clients, and if there were ad­ministrative or creative changes to a deal they had made for one of their clients, they would naturally try to object, or get some control over what was happening. Even try to get out of the deal, if nec­essary.

  Or was this simply a glossy lie? The kind she knew Creighton and any of the many successful executives-of-the-moment around town were capable of telling.

  But maybe Creighton really hadn't known. He did say impound­ing the offices had been a mistake.

  "So what are you going to do?" she asked.

  "About what?"

  "About the Hillingses," she said. "Don't you think you should sit down with them and sort things out?"

  "Sort what out?"

  "Well, the situation with the offices, for one."

  "There's nothing to sort out, Georgiana. They belong to us and they've started a crazy campaign against us which has no foundation whatsoever." He paused. "And, true to form, they're using good people like you to do their dirty work for them."

  "Creighton, let me get this straight," Georgiana said. "You're telling me that you've done nothing wrong—that all of this is sim­ply a ploy on the part of the Hillingses to get out of their agreement with ICA."

  He nodded. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but they want to sell Hillings & Hillings to Ben Rothstein. They're old friends, and Ben could do a lot with the agency. Certainly he could foul up a lot of projects we have on the boards right now."

  She didn't say anything.

  "I suggest you talk to the Hillingses about all this."

  "They're in seclusion now; Mrs. Hillings is still recovering from the heart attack she suffered when she discovered their offices pad­locked," Georgiana said.

  "Well, of course they would be unreachable at a time like this," Creighton said, in a way that seemed to confirm his point: the Hillingses were trying to get out of the deal so they could do one with Ben Rothstein, and were using their clients as a front to do it.

  Georgiana felt vaguely ill. "Well, thank you for your time, Creighton," she said, getting up.

  "Georgiana, you're very important to us," he said, coming around the desk. "When you need me, I'm here."

  "Thank you, Creighton. I understand everything you've said, but I also want you to understand how important the Hillingses are to me and to my family. I want you to understand how badly I will take it if I find out that what you have told me is not true."

  His eyes narrowed slightly, but he smiled as he took Georgiana's arm and walked her to the office door. "What I have told you is the truth, and I certainly would not like to see any bad blood spilled between us, Georgiana."

  She felt a chill. There was a threat in what he had just said. She could feel it.

  Elizabeth was on the telephone with Claire Spender Holland when the flowers arrived at the Hillingses' apartment. Sasha brought them in, explaining they were addressed to her. Elizabeth opened the card: My dear Professor, I didn't meant to hurt your feelings, but methinks the snake is out from underneath his rocketh. Please beware, fair maiden. I am a man. I know about these things. Your friend and admirer, Monty

  Between Monty and Georgiana, Elizabeth thought, poor David was not exactly getting rave reviews. Why then, she wondered, did she not feel scared of him anymore? And yet still attracted?

  After she was dismissed from ICA for the day, Patty hopped a Fifth Avenue downtown bus, jumped out at Twentieth Street, and walked east to Gramercy Park. It was such a shock, being in New York—with all the people, all the bustle, all the noise—that she could not make even this trek without consulting her pocket map nine times to reassure herself she was not lost. When she saw Gramercy Park and the Hillingses' building soaring up behind it, she felt a surge of relief, quickly replaced by a sense of freedom and adventure she had not felt in years.

  Upstairs in the apartment she met with Elizabeth and Monty in the study. She started in on her day, focusing on the offices at the far end of the floor, her meeting with James Stanley Johnson, Mar­ion Ballicutt's new photocopying machine, and so on.

  Monty nodded as Elizabeth took notes.

  "What about the papers he had on the floor?" Elizabeth asked. "Were they in a box or any kind of container?"

  "Well, there were a ton of folders," Patty said.

  "Were the labels handwritten or typed?" Monty asked. She thought a moment and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't see. But they were old, I could see that—a lot of paper was yellow with age."

  Elizabeth and Monty looked at each other. "Could be," she said.

  "There was a box, now that I think of it," Patty said. "But it wasn't a file box. I think it was a vodka carton."

  Elizabeth had reached for the phone and was dialing. After a moment, Henry Hillings picked up in Water Mill. "It's Elizabeth. May I ask you a question?"

  "If you can assure me the yard will be done on time," Henry answered.

  "You're not alone," she said.

  "That's right."

  "One quick question. Did you ever keep files in liquor-store cartons?"

  "Is this a joke?"

  "That's what I thought," Elizabeth said. "Thank you, good­bye."

  Sasha was knocking on the door. "Mr. Smith?" she said, poking her head in the door. "Ms. Hamilton-Ayres is on the household line. She says it is very important."

  "Coming," he said, jumping up and following her.

  "Well," Elizabeth sighed, "I guess the papers James Stanley Johnson was going through could have been from another haystack, not the Hillings & Hillings one."

  "But they could have been selected files that had already been pulled at Hillings & Hillings," Patty said. "Maybe they brought boxes with them."

  "I wish we knew," Elizabeth said, nervously twiddling her pen.

  "I'll try to get into his office again tomorrow," Patty promised.

  "Please be careful," Elizabeth said.

  "Oh, I will be," she assured her. "I know how to get in there now—at least long enough to glance at the labels on the files. And if I can't get in tomorrow, I'll try on Monday. They already said they need me next week."

  "I don't know, Patty," Elizabeth sighed. "Having you there makes me such a nervous wreck, I can't tell you. And what about your family? Your husband can't be thrilled."

  "My family doesn't love the idea and they
'll be unhappy that I'm working in the city again next week," Patty said, "but, quite frankly, Elizabeth, I'm enjoying every minute of this. It's been years since I've been out of Stanton, much less running around New York with such a glamorous crowd."

  Elizabeth smiled. "You're the glamorous one. I must say, you do look sensational as a blonde."

  "Thanks," she said, touching the wig, which was so comfortable she kept forgetting she had it on. She looked at her watch. "It's getting late, though, I better call my husband."

  "You know, Patty," Elizabeth said, "if you'd like, you're wel­come to stay here tonight. There's another guest room. With the commute and everything I think maybe you should think about it. I'm sure I've got some clothes you can wear to work that'll fit you. And tomorrow's Friday, so you can go home for the weekend."

  Patty's heart leapt. What fun it would be to stay! "Let me call Ted," she said, reaching for the telephone, dreading what his re­action would be but desperately wanting to make the call. She felt a sense of urgency about her own life right now that she hadn't ever felt. It wouldn't kill her family to fend for themselves for one night, would it?

  While Patty was having a quiet argument with her husband over the telephone, Monty came into the study looking dark as a storm cloud. "You cannot believe what that sleaze bag out there is saying," he said to Elizabeth.

  "Who?"

  "Creighton Berns, that's who." He sat down and repeated what Georgiana had reported to him.

  "No, Ted!" Patty was whispering loudly into the phone. "What you could say is you understand how important this is to me, and offer to drive in some clothes!" Pause. "And just how many thou­sands of miles do you think I've driven over the last eighteen years, morning, noon, and night, bringing you lost equipment, playbooks, and missing players? Thousands, Ted! Thousands!"

  Monty and Elizabeth looked at each other, trying not to listen.

  Elizabeth cleared her throat and spoke a little louder. "There is a very good possibility that a lot of people will believe ICA's lies. Everyone knows how close Ben and the Hillingses are."

  "Ben's in Bora Bora," Monty said.

  "That's what I mean. Nobody can talk to him, so anyone can say what they like, and ICA won't talk to the Hillingses except through lawsuits—" She shook her head. "Something very weird is going on, Monty."

  "We'll get to the bottom of it, I promise you."

  "I hope so," she sighed. She glanced at Patty, who had turned her back to them to continue her argument. "Patty's going to try to get back in James Stanley Johnson's office tomorrow and see if she can get a look at one or two names on the files."

  "What then?"

  "Then we'll run the names by Henry and see if they mean anything to him. If we know what kinds of files they pulled, it could give us a clue about what they're after."

  Monty nodded.

  Patty hung up the phone but did not turn around.

  Elizabeth turned. "Do you have to go back to New Jersey to­night?"

  "No," Patty said. "I'm staying here tonight—if the offer still stands."

  "Wonderful!" Elizabeth said. "I'm so glad, Patty. It gets lonely here at night."

  "Yes, I'm very happy about it, too," Patty said, sniffing and turning around to smile. She was wiping tears from her eyes.

  "I have an important announcement to make," Monty said, standing up. "I am taking you ladies out to dinner."

  "Oh, no," Patty said, "you shouldn't—"

  "If I want to take two gorgeous women to dinner, my dear Mrs. Kleczak," Monty said, "then who are you to deny me the pleasure?"

  Patty sniffed again, and laughed.

  Elizabeth stood up. "You're really buying?"

  "This is correct, dear Professor," he said with a bow.

  "Patty, come on," Elizabeth said, taking her arm and pulling her across the room, "let us wash our faces and brush our hair before he changes his mind."

  Monty could hear them laughing in the hall. The sound made him smile. Amazing how quickly the moods could turn around in this house.

  PART III

  32

  They had bought the house on Cobb Road in Water Mill years ago, when the roof had been threatening to fall in and the front porch had been listing severely to the right. The floors and walls inside had fitted together like something out of a fun house, and the back staircase had required more additional wood for support work than there was original wood. On the north side of the house there had been two house jacks in use, keeping the building akeel, as it were, in the sea of unmowed grass. And yet, the Hillingses had been mad about it.

  It was, after all, a giant Victorian farmhouse, with weathered cedar shingles; intricate wood moldings, borders, and shutters; and a deep shady porch wrapping around the front. Inside there was a huge kitchen, a parlor, a dining room, and a living room with a fireplace and real window seats; and upstairs there were five bed­rooms and, granted, only one bathroom. But the bay was across the street, and the oceanfront was scarcely a quarter mile down the road.

  The twins, Peter and Susan, had been old enough to fall in love with the house, too, and that first year had been a true family project. They lived with the constant mess inspired by the local handyman, and the entire family—in between the children's adven­tures at the beach, Dorothy on the tennis court, and Henry on the golf course—endeavored to assist in the revitalization of the house.

  Summer turned to fall, winter, and spring, and the Hillingses dutifully trekked out there every weekend. Henry burned and stripped one hundred years of paint to restore and refinish the interior woodwork, and then he moved on to strip and sand and refinish the wood floors; Dorothy wallpapered like mad, directed where the new wainscoting was to go, and then, in the spring, abandoned the house for the gardens that lay unturned for thirty years. The twins painted the porch and the trim on the outside of the house, sealed the cedar shingles with shellac. Between the two of them, they kept the lawn mowed and the hedges cut.

  Dorothy and Henry also took possession of the ancient barn, clearing it out so the family could use it as a two-car garage downstairs, but more importantly to them, the kids were able to clean out the second­ floor rooms to create a place of their own. At the beginning of the family's third summer in Water Mill, the twins arrived home from their freshman year at college, to find that their "apartment" had been outfitted with a bathroom and running water!

  In the beginning, the house had very nearly bankrupted the Hillingses of their savings, as old houses are wont to do, and while it broke their hearts, they had no choice but to rent it out the fifth summer so they could meet the expenses of the twins' senior year of college. It was the only year they had to do it; their children grad­uated, things picked up at the agency, and the house gradually evolved from being a very expensive haven to a most relaxing re­treat, one which they could well afford.

  Susan was married in the gardens behind the Water Mill house, and she and her husband had used the house as their own for years. When Susan had three children, it became particularly useful that it was so large. Peter, on the other hand, had moved out to the San Francisco area shortly after his marriage. He had two children now and as soon as the youngest turned four, all five of the Hillingses' grandchildren came to stay with their grandparents for two weeks in August.

  What wild times those had been, Henry thought on Saturday afternoon, smiling to himself as he walked across the backyard. Especially that first summer: five children ranging in age from four to nine, two mother's helpers—who invariably got into more trou­ble than the children, at least at night, when they were apt to sneak to the beach to make out with boys, quickly getting in over their heads. Henry would have to go down and look for them in the dunes—an embarrassing business, tripping over blankets, peeking under upside-down lifeboats, and whispering to shadows beside bathhouses—and bring them home to Dorothy, who had to talk to them about the facts of life.

  There were pictures all over the house from those years: Doe in clam-diggers, Henry in Bermudas,
the children squinting with sun­burned faces and gaps in their smiles where new teeth were com­ing in.

  They had a great-grandchild now. Shocking, but true. Little Sally had gotten married too soon, both he and Doe thought, but it was her life. And now there was a sweet baby. What could they do, they had asked one another, except love and support the young couple as best they could?

  But they were all so far away now! Susan's husband's agency had sent him to Hong Kong for three years. While one of their children was still with them, their eldest was working in a surf shop in Australia and Sally, the middle child, was living with her husband and baby in Portland. Peter, the Hillingses' son, was still working in San Francisco and living in Portola Valley; one of his children was at Stanford and the other was down at USC.

  Both Peter and Susan had dropped everything and flown home to New York when they learned of their mother's heart attack, but when it became clear that Dorothy was going to be all right, they had returned to their own busy lives. But Henry wished it did not feel as though they were as far away as they were.

  They were great children, the twins. Always had been. Smart, good-natured, popular enough to get into trouble occasionally, but well-grounded enough not to seek it out.

  Doe missed them terribly, he knew.

  At first he and Dorothy were disappointed that neither Susan nor Peter expressed much interest in the agency. But then it began to dawn on them that the poor kids had had so much of it as children—all day, all night, he and Doe talking about clients, deals, problems—that it was amazing they had not resented it more than they did.

  Peter had worked at the agency for a year following his gradu­ation from Yale. He had been bright and very fast to learn, but the Hillingses had quickly seen that their son lacked the personality to deal with writers. Peter thought everyone should stand on their own feet, emotionally and financially, which was a very fine thing if one were talking about stable and secure people, which, quite frankly, few of their clients were for any length of time. So while Peter could handle the business side adeptly, the clients were often thrown by his honesty; after listening to them for a while, he was apt to flat out say he thought they needed to grow up.