Inheritance

by Judith Michael

  Inheritance

  about. Laura, we loved each other once, and that doesn't ever really disappear, does it? Could we get together and see if we still do? Or could again? I wouldn't ask you to come to Boston; I'd come to Chicago (I read about you in Hotels Today; it sounds like you've got a good job, and I'd like to hear more about it). Please write to me; I really want to see you. And Clay, too, of course, if he wants to.

  The Beacon Hill house. Laura turned back to the first page of the letter. The imprinted address on the stationery was Owen's, and it had been hers. Staring at it, she began to tremble.

  Everything she had loved and dreamed of and lost, Ben had won. He was living in the Beacon Hill house. He owned it. He had married into the Salinger family. He was an executive in the Salinger hotel chain.

  He had destroyed her chances for all of that, and then he had grabbed it all for himself.

  Get together with you? And have you invite me to your house? It's my house! Owen left it to me! If you think I'll ever go there and have you greet me as its owner . . .

  She crammed the letter into a comer of her briefcase and carried it with her, thinking someday she might think of something to say and answer it. But every time she thought about it, she remembered a different part. "/ need somebody from outside" . . . Who the hell does he think he is, to remind me I'm an outsider there?

  Finally, on a golden day in early fall, when she'd taken a weekend off to hike at Starved Rock, she sat under an oak tree and read Ben's letter one last time.

  We loved each other once, and that doesn't ever really disappear, does it?

  She rested her head against the rough baric of the oak tree and let herself remember Ben when she had adored him and counted on him to take care of her in a frightening world. And she knew that no matter how angry she might be, somewhere inside her she would always love him because he was so much a part of her, no matter how high the walls between them seemed. And then, as smoothly as one wave following an-

  Judith Michael

  other, she thought of Paul; she could hear his voice and see his smile and the way his eyes darkened when he looked at her, and remember the feeling of belonging she always had when they were together,

  No. That doesn't ever disappear.

  She tore Ben's letter into small pieces and dug a small hole in the moist earth, burying the pieces as deep as she could. Black soil was under her pohshed nails; she thought of Clay working in the greenhouse on Cape Cod, and wondered if she could ever escape from her memories. Then she filled in the small hole, brushed off her hands, and went home.

  "I'll drink to the future," she said to Currier. It was February, now, more than a year after the Chicago Beacon Hill had opened, more than a year since Ben had married Allison. It was time to look ahead. The waiter had just left; Currier had ordered for both of them—he liked to do that. Laura lifted her glass. "To our past and the future."

  Currier smiled at her seriousness. Whatever had suddenly preoccupied her was gone, and once again she had turned to him. That always would be their pattern, he thought; she really had no one but him. Ginny Starrett was only a friend, though she seemed to be giving Laura more attention than she gave her other friends, and no one could call Clay someone Laura could count on: he seemed to be having a good deal of trouble deciding to grow up. "To our past and our future," Currier said, changing one word, and their glasses touched with a singing tone of perfect crystal.

  And then, as they drank, Laura's seriousness was replaced by a smile of self-mockery, almost as if she were chastising herself for what she was about to say—worried as she was about money—but she couldn't help it, she couldn't stop. "Speaking of the future, Wes: about those other two Salinger hotels, in Washington and Philadelphia . . ."

  A drenching May thunderstorm was blowing against the office windows the day Felix learned that Laura Fairchild was a major shareholder in OWL Development. It was reported to him by his Realtor in Philadelphia, who had called with OWL'S offer for the Philadelphia Salinger. "I heard it from a friend in Chicago; he's pretty sure it's true."

  Inheritance

  "She's the manager of the Chicago hotel," Felix said tightly. He'd known it for over a year, ever since stories on the Chicago Beacon Hill began appearing in hotel trade magazines, but however much he detested it, he'd known there was nothing he could do but ignore it. The bitch was determined to claw her way into a Salinger hotel, just to get back at him, even if it didn't belong to the family anymore, but it had nothing to do with him. She could rot in Chicago forever; he wouldn't lose any sleep over it. That was what he had thought for the past year.

  "She did manage it when it opened," the Realtor said. "I assume someone else is doing it now. All I know for sure is what I heard: that she and Currier started OWL Development, and she owns a good chunk of the stock. Does it matter?" he asked when Felix was silent. "They've made the only respectable offer we've had in two years. I'd like your permission to counter with eleven million and settle at ten. It's not what we'd hoped for, but the Philadelphia market isn't hot right •now. I guarantee you they'll pay ten; we can have the whole thing wrapped up in an hour."

  "Find another buyer." Felix could barely speak through the rage that was sweeping through him like the rain that swept his windows. He'd called her insignificant; he'd almost forgotten about her. And now, to hear that she was a major stockholder in a corporation with which he'd done business! He couldn't tolerate it; it destroyed the orderly pattern of his thoughts—as if a person he'd been told was dead had been seen shopping at Copley Plaza. He prided himself on being in command of information and knowing exactly what to do with it; his fury was greatest when he had to admit he'd been mistaken or kept in the dark. "Go back to the other offers we've had. Negotiate with the best of them. Don't argue with me,'* I he snarled when the Realtor began to protest. "Get back to me in a week. I want that hotel sold."

  In the conference room at the other end of the corridor, the board members were waiting for him to begin their monthly meeting. Let them wait; he couldn't go in yet. Rage weakened him, and he had to be in control. He sat still, willing himself to calm down. It was getting harder to control his rages, especially when he had to hide them from others. And he knew he

  Judith Michael

  would have to defend his actions calmly and reasonably whei he told the board about the offer for the Philadelphia hotel.

  **Timed it d-d-d-down?" Asa said at the end of the meeting when Felix reached the last item on his agenda. "Ttimed down a t-t-t-ten million dollar offer for that d-d-d-d-dumpT*

  *They haven*t made it yet."

  "But your Realtor said they would," Cole Hatton said. One of three board members who was not a member of the Salin^ ger family, he was the most outspoken and difficult to intimidate. "Who else came close to ten? Anybody?*

  "Not yet," said Asa. "Right?" he asked Felix. "Nobody' came c-c-c-close to ten? One was as low as seven. Right?"

  "We aren't talking to the one who offered seven." Felix sat rigidly in his leather chair and let his look slide around the table, from Asa on his left to Cole Hatton and the two other outsiders, then to Thomas Janssen, who retained his seat on the board though he no longer worked for the company, and finally to Ben Gardner, his son-in-law, still there, still married to Allison, and showing no signs of leaving. "We'll push the others higher and get as close to ten as we can."

  "Why bother?" Cole Hatton demanded. "You have a buyer."

  "We shouldn't give the place away if we can get a decent price," said the man next to him.

  They began to talk to each other, and Felix looked beyond them at the gray sheets of rain lashing the conference room windows. They made the distant outline of Beacon Hill look blurred and wavering.

  That bitch will never own a Salinger hotel.

  He shook his head. What was he thinking? She already owned two. Two of my hotels. Conned some money men— probably old men, like my father—sneaked in, and got two of my hotels.

  But she'll nev
er get another fucking thing that's mine.

  "I don't intend to give it away," he said harshly, "but I don't like OWL Development—^I won't deal with them—and that's a sufficient reason—^"

  "Not for me," Thomas Janssen said. His dark eyes were puzzled behind his round glasses. "If we're rejecting a qualified buyer, I'd like to know why."

  Inheritance

  "M-m-maybe they're not qualified?" Asa said tentatively.

  "For Christ's sake," Hatton exploded. "Not qualified? They i bought our Chicago and New Yoric hotels, they've gotten mortgages and construction loans, and the Chicago hotel is wiping the floor with the competition. Shit, not qualified? Call your man back," he said angrily to Felix. "Tell him we'll take ten million. I don't care what beef you've got with OWL Development; get rid of that danm hotel. We've been farting around with it for over two years, and we've got to get started on the new one in New York. It's the only one I'm absolutely sure we should be building."

  Felix's lips were a thin line; his muscles were tensed as he fought to contain his rage—at Laura Fairchild, at his board for opposing him, at his father for building the damned hotels in the first place. "I've already made this decision. We'll find another buyer."

  "What's wrong with OWL?" Ben asked. "Odd name; I've wondered about it. It sounds almost like a joke, doesn't it? What's wrong with them?"

  "I don't like their way of doing business," Felix snapped without bothering to turn his head. "I already said the decision is made. And we've debated it long enough."

  "I'd like an answer to that question, though," said Hatton. "What's wrong with them? It didn't come up with Chicago and New York. Something changed over there? Who runs it? Who we dealing with?"

  "Wes C-C-C-Currier," said Asa.

  "Good man," Hatton declared. "Handled a merger for me. Something wrong with Currier?" he asked Felix.

  "No," Felix said shortly.

  "Who else, then? Somebody you don't like. Somebody you don't like a lot, to queer a good deal like this. So who is it?"

  The door opened and a secretary came in, walking the length of the table to whisper in Ben's ear. Immediately he stood. "I'm sorry," he said, a grin breaking through his cool demeanor. "My wife is on her way to the hospital, and I want to be with her when our baby is bom. If you'll excuse me— **

  A chorus of good wishes rose from the table, and Thomas Janssen jumped up and put his arm around him. "Give our love to Allison. And you'U let us know right away— V

  Judith Michael

  "Of course. Thanks." Ben turned and walked toward the door.

  "So who don't you like?" Hatton pressed. "If you think I'm going to let a good deal fall through because you've got a flea up your ass— "

  "A stockholder," Felix burst out, his rage breaking through. "I just found out. A major stockholder. Laura Fairchild. A scheming, lying— "

  Ben tripped and crashed against the doorjamb.

  "Good God—!" Thomas exclaimed and started toward him.

  But Ben was already getting up from the floor. "Chair," he said hoarsely. "Bumped it. Sorry— '*

  "It's hard to be a father," Hatton said jocularly. "Even if you aren't one yet. Better take a cab to the hospital; might not be able to trust yourself driving."

  Ben nodded. Numbly, he looked at the conference table: everyone was standing, casting covert glances at Felix, who sat rigidly, staring straight ahead. Thomas had come up to Ben. "Sure you're all right?"

  "Fine." Ben lowered his voice. "When I call about the baby, you'll tell me about the rest of the meeting?"

  "Of course."

  "All about it." Thomas nodded, but as Ben opened the door to leave, he was not sure how much he would hear, especially if Thomas and Asa managed to have a private conversation with Felix.

  "What the fuck difference does it make who she is?" Hatton was demanding while others around the table began to raise their own questions. "Money's money; who gives a damn where it comes from? You thinking of what's best for the company, or whatever's eating you?"

  The questions were cut off as Ben closed the door behind him and strode down the corridor, his thoughts racing between two poles.

  Laura Fairchild. OWL Development.

  Allison should be at the hospital by now.

  How did she get to be a major stockholder?

  I won't drive; Hatton's right; better take a cab.

  She always was the smartest of us all, but how did she do it? Where did she get the money?

  Inheritance

  The doctor said everything was fine, but things can go I wrong; my God, if anything happens to Alhson— And where the hell is Clay? Nothing will happen; she's fine; the baby's fine— I have to see Laura. Find out what she's doing . . . "Mr. Gardner," the receptionist said, "I told them to hold a t taxi downstairs; I thought you might want it." [ "I do. Thanks," he said. 'Thanks for thinking of it."

  He stood in the elevator feeling he was being sucked into a » vortex. Laura. Allison. Our baby. Felix losing control. And if he does that once too often . . . } And I keep mine . . .

  I The Salinger hotel empire will be at the tips of Ben Gardner's fingers.

  He ducked into the taxi as the dooiman held the door, and sat back, letting his thoughts spin, unaware of the honking and screeching of die traffic on rain-slicked streets, or the driver's muttered monologue directed at everyone who drove or walked. At the hospital he asked the way without being aware H he was doing it, and so found himself in a room with Allison p before he had time to shut out thoughts of the meeting and think only of her.

  "You look fierce," Allison said as he bent to kiss her. She lay on a narrow bed and smiled up at him. "Was it the board meeting? Hold my hand and stop thinking about it. Think about being a father. I'm trying to think of us being parents in a few hours, and all of a sudden I can't imagine it. I don't have the faintest idea how to be a parent. Do you? Do you believe in spanking children?"

  "No." He pulled up a chair and sat beside her, holding her hand. "I believe in giving them lots of attention and never leaving them."

  "Not even for a vacation?" "We might be able to manage that." "We've hardly talked about it. Isn't that odd? I think we spent the whole nine months choosing names." She took his hand and held it on her breast. "It's been a wonderful time, hasn't it?"

  *The best I've ever known. But it isn't ending, you know; it's just going to change."

  Judith Michael

  She smiled. "Ever since I found you, I haven*t wanted anything to change. Everything, the whole family, has been perfect." Without warning, a gasp broke from her and her face grew pinched. She drew up her legs as if trying to keep the pain from bursting through. Her breathing was shallow and quick and her hand gripped Ben's with a strength he had not known she had. "Damn," she gasped. "Why . . . isn't it . . . fun? So much . . . fun . . . making it."

  He grinned. "Breathe. All those exercises, remember?"

  She grimaced. "Easier when it . . . didn't hurt."

  "I'll count," he said, trying to be casual. He hadn't known what it would be like to watch Allison in pain. 'Try to remember: deep, slow ..."

  "Good," approved a nurse, appearing at the bedside. "So many of them forget. Mrs. Gardner, you're doing fine."

  Allison nodded, her eyes still closed. "Because of my husband."

  "Fine," said the nurse absendy; she was taking Allison's blood pressure.

  "Is she all right?" Ben asked. He told himself not to be a fool: he'd been through all the classes with Allison, he knew what to expect, he shouldn't be worried. But it was one thing to share talk and exercises with a group of pregnant women and their husbands, and another thing to sit in a hospital room and watch Allison's face and body tensed in pain. "Is everything all right?"

  "Hush," Allison said. "Ben, darting, don't yell at the nurse; she's just doing her job."

  "Everything's dandy," the nurse said. "Hang in there and keep up the breathing. You're both just great."

  "Does she have to be so goddam cheerful?" Ben grow
led.

  Allison made a sound that was part grunt and part laugh. "You're supposed to pay attention to me and nobody else. Just stay close and talk to me and everything will be wonderful. . . . We're going to be the happiest threesome in the world."

  Ben held Allison's hands with both of his, and neither of them looked up when the nurse left the room. "You're wonderful," he said. "And I love you."

  "Hey," Allison said with a smile. "You sound surprised.

  Inheritance

  You should never sound surprised when you tell your wife you love her." She closed her eyes. "Having you love me is the most perfect thing that ever happened to me." She lay quietly, her body waiting for the next contraction. "I'm so glad we have everything ready at home. The bed for the nanny . . ." The pain was building; Ben could see it in the pinching of her face. "Call her later, Ben . . . don't forget ... tell her we'll want her in a couple of days. ..."

  "Stop talking and breathe," Ben ordered. "And listen to me count." He held her hands and counted rhythmically, breathing with her, and as he did, everything else faded away. Felix's hostility, a new vice presidency, money, Laura, the desire to avenge Judd—they aH faded to nothing. He stroked the taut, trembling mound of Allison's womb that held their child, and leaned down to kiss her breast through the thin hospital gown, his blond hair merging with hers, long and ash-blond. He had a deep sense of safety. He had a wife who loved him, he had a home, he had a family of his own.

  Laura had never answered his letter, and after he'd stopped watching the mail for it, he'd decided to wait until the baby was bom and then try again. But even if she refused to have anything to do with him, he was finding a new life that gave him almost everything he could ever want: love, a place to belong, a future. Even his drive to gain power in the Salinger empire, to settle the score with Felix, seemed unimportant as he sat beside Allison. He knew it would probably return later, but for now it was enough to love his wife and cherish what they had together. He hadn't expected to feel this way—he hadn't dreamed he could, about anyone—but now that he did, there was only Allison: her pale face, her eyes fixed on him, her hands gripping his as no one had since Laura had clung to him in the months after their parents were killed. Today there was only Allison and their baby.