A Ruling Passion

by Judith Michael

  "For Christ's sake, Sybille, I haven't got time—"

  "Damn it, listen to me; when have I ever wasted your time? The treasurer of the board is Monte James, president of James Trust and Savings; the vice-president and secretary is Arch Warman, president of Warman Developers and Contractors. The board pays me to produce 'The Hour of Grace.' The board takes in all contributions to The Hour of Grace,' and expends them. The board is planning to build a town called Graceville on land it will buy adjoining the two acres it bought for the Cathedral of Joy."

  Carlton was frowning. "They spend the money any way they want? No strings? No oversight committee?"

  Sybille nodded approvingly. Sometimes Carl was very quick. 'Yes," she said.

  "And you've got a bank president and a developer."

  "He's also a contractor."

  Their eyes met. "What do you have in mind?" Carl asked.

  "I think the board will ask you to be a shareholder in a development company that will buy the land we need for Graceville. The market price for that land is about ten thousand dollars an acre. If you buy it for that—thirteen hundred acres for thirteen million dollars—I think the board will buy the land from you for the price you quote them as a package. Say, thirty million."

  Carlton was staring at her. A profit of seventeen million... "Where do I get the thirteen million to buy the land.>"

  "Can you raise it? Sell the rest of your portfolio, borrow on those assets you were talking about—your New York apartment. Sterling Farms, your paintings... ?"

  Slowly, he said, "Just about." He nodded twice, "And I'd get thirty million when I sell the land to the board."

  Sybille smiled faindy. "Only twenty-six, and it will take about three months. Floyd and Monte and Arch each get one, and I get one, for our devoted efforts on your behalf That leaves you thirteen for Valerie's portfolio, and her mother's, and yours, and another thirteen to pay off the notes or mortgages you signed to raise the money."

  "Back where I started."

  "With no one knowing."

  Flis face closed in. "I'm not sure ... I don't much like it."

  "Neither do I," she said quickly. "I'd rather do everything openly, honestly; I don't like some of the things I have to do; they keep me awake at night, because I know this isn't really me. But, Carl, I can do so much good with Graceville; what difference does it make how we get the money, when good will come of it? It's good for you too."

  "Where do you get thirty million to buy the land from me?"

  "Donations. We're raising a hundred and fifty million to cover the start-up cost for Graceville. Last year Lily brought in over twenty-five million; this year it will be close to thirty, and next year we should hit seventy-five. But we'll need every penny of it."

  Fie was staring at her. 'Tou're doing this with one show?"

  "She's on twice a week."

  "And people send in..."

  "We've just begun; we're not even close to Swaggart and Jim and Tammy Bakker. But we'll leave them behind, they can't compare with Lily."

  "How much..." He cleared his throat. "You said one hundred and fifty million for the town."

  "Yes, but we'll take in far more before it's finished. The rest we need

  for producing 'The Hour of Grace,' which includes my salary as producer, and my expenses; paying die board its salaries, office space, cars, a corporate plane... it's expensive to keep an expanding organization going, Carl."

  He fell silent. "The board," he said at last. "You trust them?"

  "They're deeply committed to building Graceville and bringing peace and joy to Lily's followers. Floyd, the president of the board, is a religious man who says he has a weak heart. I checked on him and he was fired for a few other weaknesses, but he's perfect for the Hour of Grace Foundation; devoted and energetic. Monte James will make the construction loans to the Foundation so the board can pay Arch War-man to build the town; both of them are as deeply committed as Floyd."

  "And you.>"

  "Of course."

  "No, I meant, what position do you have on the board?"

  "None," Sybiile said promptly. "I work behind the scenes. I've done it for so long ifs where I'm happiest."

  "I don't believe you."

  "Oh, Carl, what difference does it make? I have no position on the board, my name isn't connected with the board or the Foundation. Are we going to discuss the development company you're going to invest in?"

  "I haven't said I'll do it."

  "What are you waiting for? Where else will you make a quick thirteen million, Carl, with no one knowing?" She jumped up and went to the door. "I'm going home. If you want to call me..."

  "Wait! Damn it, Sybiile, I didn't say..." He stood and began to pace the same path around the room Sybiile had taken earlier. "When would you need the money?"

  "Early December. Two months from now. It will probably take you most of that time to raise it. Three months, if absolutely necessary. Monte is talking to the owners of the land; he could drag it out, but I don't want to go past the first of the year."

  "Three months. I could manage that." He took a few more steps, then looked at her across the room. "Why would you do this for me?"

  "Oh, Carl, for so many reasons. I love you; you know that. I'd do anything within my power to get you out of this."

  "And?"

  "It's a good match. You get a quick thirteen million profit and we can always use the extra four for spending money."

  He focused on her. "And?"

  After a moment, she sighed. "You'd never leave Valerie destitute. If she gets her money back, she can be on her own; she's good at that. And you can come to me with a clear conscience."

  "Come to you. With a clear conscience."

  "Why not?" She held her voice steady while beneath it excitement rippled through her. Sybille Sterling. Mrs. Carlton Sterling. Sybille Sterling ofSterlin£i Farms. "A straight business deal," she said, and then her voice dropped ftirther, to a husky passion. 'Tour mistakes covered up without a trace, Lily and Graceville bringing in a nice income, and the two of us together. Oh, Carl, what could be more perfect? To be together after all these months of waiting. Wonderful months," she added quickly. "The most wonderftil months of my life, when I knew that I could really love, and be loved, and not be afraid. When you helped me grow up. When you brought me to life." She paused and let the silence draw out. "I know I shouldn't be greedy; I know I should be satisfied with whatever joy I can get. But we've talked about being together, Carl, we've talked about it, and waited... so long..."

  He was silent. Her voice etched itself into his thoughts like sweet acid. Yes, they'd talked about it. He dreamed about it. He fantasized about it while stocks were being analyzed, while he rode his horse, while he drove around his farm. He thought about her when he was eating, when he was dressing and undressing, when he was making love to Valerie.

  "Carl," she said very softly. "Let me give you the kind of joy you've given me... a new life..." Her voice wrapped itself about him as if it were her legs twined around his hips. Everything else fell away and he gazed at her as if they had just arrived at the cottage after being separated for several days. "Sybille; Christ ifs been a week." He strode across the room and swept her up in his arms. "God, I've missed you," he said.

  By Christmas, in the midst of parties and house guests, Carlton and Valerie were barely speaking to each other. Carlton was tense and withdrawn, sleeping badly, eating sporadically, and convincing himself that their frenzied schedule would keep Valerie from noticing any of it. But Valerie noticed, enough to challenge his moodiness more than once before pulling away from him. She was too busy running Sterling Farms and their entertaining to probe too deeply. She was sure he was having an affair with someone—he had been careless a few times in talking about his trips to Manhattan, and there had been other clues—

  but she didn't know who it was, and didn't want to know. They had too many other things to talk about, starting with their marriage. If they ever found time, she thought
: these days, the most they talked about was what time the next party would begin.

  Carlton watched her lost in her own thoughts, and went into a panic. If she was angry at him for some reason she might kick him out, or demand a divorce, which would require opening up all their finances. Even if she didn't want a divorce, if she no longer felt close to him she might decide to manage her own money. He felt immobilized with fear as the days slipped through his fingers, and he and Valerie drifted farther apart. And then her mother came to visit, and he envisioned the two of them plotting together, watching him with suspicion. One of these days, they'd sit him down and demand an accounting of their finances; he could imagine the whole conversation.

  His frenzy grew, so that when Valerie told him, the day before Christmas, that she wanted the two of them to get away for a while, he had no idea what she was talking about. "You don't want to be here for the holidays? Why not? What's the matter with being here?"

  "Nothing, if we were alone. I'm tired of fighting the crowds for a litde time with you, Carl. I think we need a vacation from the farm and everyone on it."

  "We can't leave; we can't tell everyone—"

  "I know; we're stuck for now. But I want to go somewhere after the first of the year. Just the two of us."

  He thought about it. "I might be able to do it then; if not right after the first, at least by the middle of January."

  "No," she said firmly. "That's not good enough. I don't want to wait. We need this, Carl, and you know it."

  He shrugged. He couldn't leave. He had to keep an eye on Sybille; he had to know what was happening. "We could go to New York, if you want. I could check with the office once in a while, and the rest of the time we'll do dinner and the theater with the Stevensons and the Gramsons and the—"

  "Carl, I said alone. We'll never get anywhere if you keep making parties wherever you go. Either we have a marriage worth talking about or we don't. And I'm not going to wait to find out."

  Those were the words he had dreaded most. "For God's sake, of course we have a marriage. What is it you want, Val? I'll do anything you want; just don't threaten me."

  Her eyebrows rose. "I wasn't threatening; I was saying I can't wait months to talk. I told you what I want: to go somewhere quiet where

  we don't have a mob at every meal, and get reacquainted, and make love, and ignore the rest of the world. I don't think that's a lot to ask; you can call it a New Year's present."

  Carlton put his arms around her so she could not see his face. "It sounds wonderfiil. Where would you like to go?"

  "To the mountains. Wouldn't you like that.>"

  "Yes," he replied after the tiniest hesitation. "Especially if it makes you happy. We'll leave right after the first of the year." His arms tightened around her. "A week in the Adirondacks, away from the rest of the world."

  Chapter 18

  f M M he house was on its own small lake a few miles

  ^^^^ from Lake Placid, its back against the pine forest,

  ^1 ^ its broad front porch facing a narrow stretch of

  W ^W beach. Built of huge logs, with a high, pitched roof

  and wide stone fireplace, the house had three bedrooms, and Carlton managed to fill two of them with the group he put together for the trip.

  "Alex and Betsy Tarrant; they asked to come along and I couldn't turn them down," he told Valerie as they were leaving for the airport. "They won't get in our way, and you've always liked them."

  Valerie had never liked Betsy, but she let it pass. "This was going to be just the two of us," she said quiedy,

  "I know, Val, and I'm sorry. It just happened. We won't pay attention to them. They can go off by themselves."

  Valerie did not respond. On the flight to Lake Placid she told Alex to sit up front with Carlton, and she sat behind them with Betsy, letting her talk about herself. She should have known this would happen. Carlton never took quiet trips if he could help it; he always sur-

  rounded himself with a group, even for a weekend in Washington or New York. There was no reason to think he had invited the Tarrants because he was nervous, though he seemed more distracted and jumpy than she could ever remember; this was just his way. And after all, she told herself, this was a pretty small group for Carlton. They'd still have plenty of time to talk.

  They landed at the Lake Placid airport, and drove to the house in the Wagoneer they kept garaged there. Valerie discussed meals with the housekeeper, who lived in Lake Placid; Carlton and the maintenance man walked through the house, talking about a small leak in the roof and a broken pipe that had been repaired the week before. The Tarrants took the large back bedroom upstairs; Valerie and Carlton unpacked in the master bedroom on the main floor. And Carlton disappeared into his office, a small room off" their bedroom.

  That day and the next, he worked there, with the door closed. He urged Valerie and the others to go snowshoeing or skiing, or to take the snowmobiles for rides around the lake. "I'll join you as soon as I can," he said on Friday morning. He was sitting at his desk, his head resting on his hand. "I'm sorry, Val; as soon as I can we'll go off" to our own corner. Maybe later this afternoon."

  "You'll be there alone," she said coldly. "I'm taking the Tarrants into town for the day and we won't be back until dinnertime. You make it awftilly hard to patch up a marriage, Carl; if you—"

  "Patch? We don't need patching; we're doing fine. I've been busy, I haven't paid much attention to you, I know that; but that doesn't mean anything; Christ, Valerie, do you have to build up a case every time I've got a lot on my mind? If every couple who doesn't spend a lot of time together—"

  "Oh, stop it," she said impatiendy. He shrugged, still leaning his head on his hand, and in a moment Valerie bent down and kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry; I'm as nervous as you these days. If you'd tell me what's bothering you, I might be able to help, or at least we could share it. Unless it's this woman you've got; I don't imagine I'd be much help there."

  'Woman? What woman? What are you talking about?"

  'Tour regular trips to Manhattan. Carl, do you think everyone in the world is blind but you?" She picked up her shearling coat and went to the door. "I'll be in town until about six. If you're willing to talk after dinner, we might make a start at being married."

  "We are married, for Christ's sake. I can't talk to you if you're ob-

  sessed with these crazy ideas. There isn't any other woman!"

  "Good," said Valerie lightly. "Then thafs one less thing we have to discuss, isn't it? Fll see you tonight."

  He heard her close the door, but he did not move; he was exhausted, even though it was only the morning. He wondered how he had slipped up and made her suspicious. He wondered why she felt they weren't married. He was home most nights, they went to parties together, they took quick flights to New York and Washington, they entertained, they rode together on their farm. What more did she need to feel married?

  He shook his head, and turned to the papers on his desk. It was all done. For three months, handling a few transactions at a time, he had mortgaged their properties, borrowed on their horses, their collection of antique furnishings and their twentieth-century art, and converted the remaining stocks and bonds in the three portfolios to cash. Then he had bought thirteen million dollars in bearer bonds from his broker—bonds that were completely negotiable and safely unregistered—and sent the bonds to a bank in Panama. The bank had cashed the bonds and opened an account held by a company which Monte James had set up, with a local president. From there, the money would be transfered to another account in the name of a development company in which Carlton Sterling was the major shareholder. That whole trail was invisible, since the bearer bonds were unregistered, and therefore, once he bought them, untraceable.

  Eventually—Carlton had never asked Sybille for all the details of the trail it would take from there—the thirteen million dollars would be used to purchase thirteen hundred contiguous acres of land near Cul-peper, Virginia. And then the land would be resold to th
e Hour of Grace Foundation for thirty million dollars.

  Massive fraud. The phrase had sprung at him the moment he sent the bearer bonds out of the country. Since then it had growled through his thoughts day and night, never leaving him alone. And there was something else. Sybille. Besides committing himself to fraud, he was committing himself to Sybille. Tying himself to her, irrevocably and forever.

  Thoughts like that never occurred to him when he was with her. But as he and Valerie and the others took off for Lake Placid, he had been startled to feel a lighmess and a sense of freedom, and the higher he climbed, the more certainly he had known that the freedom was from Sybille.

  With a grunt of exasperation, he shoved back his desk chair and

  went outside, pulling on a down jacket. The sun and the sparkling snow were blinding, and he put on dark glasses as he began to walk along the lakeshore. He took deep breaths of the biting air, walking faster until he was almost trotting, leaving deep footprints in the snow. And by the time he came back to the house, breathing heavily, sweating, he knew he could not do it.

  What it came down to, he finally admitted, was that he knew damn little of Sybille's machinations, with Graceville or anything else. He wasn't even sure he knew very much about Sybille. What he did know was that he wanted out.

  Back in his office, he called her, and told her he had changed his mind. "You haven't bought the land," he said when she remained silent. "The money is still in the development company's account. Fll arrange to withdraw it next Thursday, when we get back." She still was silent. "Fm sorry, Sybille; I know you wanted to help me, and that means a lot to me, it's not that I'm not grateful; I just... changed my mind."

  "And what about you?" she asked at last.

  "I don't know. I don't know what I'm going to do. I'll just have to figure something else out. I have to talk to Val. I should have known I couldn't keep it from her; it's her money, too."

  "Carl, you know you can't—"

  "Damn it, I don't want to talk about it! Sorry; I didn't mean to yell. You'll just have to go along this time, Sybille; I'm doing what I have to do, and I've made up my mind. I know you'll understand; you've always understood me, and been there when I needed you. I want to see you next week—okay?—as soon as I get back."