He cocked an eyebrow at this, in a way that indicated he was prepared to be amused. "I can imagine."
She didn't smile at him; the scene with Tom had not been pleasant, though it might be amusing now in its retelling to someone as willing to be cynical as Jake. Tom had been angry and hurt and outraged and had adopted a tone almost identical to the one he'd used when she had refused to go to bed with him. Vanessa hadn't realized that until later, when, it was true, she had suddenly found it amusing.
He'd begun with, "But what'll I do, Vanessa?" But within a very few minutes that plea had degenerated into a surly variation on the theme, "You're not nearly as good as you think, kid, and believe me, I'm not the one who's going to regret this."
Without really meaning to, she was telling Jake about it—for the reason, she realized when it happened, that she liked his eyes when they twinkled with amusement. He was never more like Jace than when his eyes were laughing.
"Good God," he said when she had finished, "is that the way men react when a beautiful woman turns them down?"
"It's the way they react when any woman turns them down," Vanessa answered, because she wasn't beautiful. "Why, how do you react?"
Jake hesitated perceptibly, and Vanessa burst into laughter. "What's the matter?" she demanded, unable this time to repress the imp. "Haven't you ever been turned down?"
She could almost believe it. Jake, although lean of build, had the sort of powerful virility that women would find it difficult to walk away from.
He said dryly, "Every male in this culture learns rejection practically in the cradle. If I seemed at a loss it was because you should know better than I how I react—you turned me down yourself not so long ago."
Suddenly she felt on dangerous ground. This was a stupid provocative topic to get involved in with someone like Jake Conrad. And this time she couldn't blame him—it was she, not he, who had made the conversation personal. Did he never get rejected, indeed! That was waving a red flag.
"Well, but—" she stammered.
"In fact, far from being instantly welcome in any woman's bed, if I recall correctly," Jake pressed on, "even the addition of a gold mine couldn't make me an attractive proposition."
Before she could stop herself, Vanessa was saying, "On the other hand, maybe it was the addition of the gold mine that made the proposition unattractive."
"Think so?" said Jake, with an arrested light in his eyes. "Do I take it that Larry Standish put you off love for money?"
She felt as if she'd been stabbed. There was a sharp hard pain somewhere inside and Vanessa realized that Jake Conrad could hurt her more than anyone she knew. It was particularly painful because a moment ago they had been joking; a moment ago she had as good as told him that if he hadn't insulted her with the gold mine she would have become his lover.
"That's unforgivable," Vanessa said in a low voice, and dropped her head. "That's not fair."
"'All's fair in love and war,'" Jake quoted softly, watching the afternoon sun create a halo of the fine hairs that escaped from her loosely piled russet hair. It glowed like dark fire.
Vanessa breathed deeply and raised her head to look straight into his eyes. "And which is this?" she asked bluntly.
Jake raised an inquiring eyebrow.
"'All's fair', you said, 'in love and war'," Vanessa said in measured tones. "And it behoves me to know just exactly which this is—love or war."
Jake raised his glass to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers, and took a sip of whiskey.
"My dear Vanessa," he said slowly, and a half-smile was on his lips but not in his dark eyes. "My dear Vanessa, if only I knew the answer to that one."
Chapter 9
"The big thing," Robert said, "is that you're going to have to make an enormous adjustment. The Canadian market is very, very different from what you're used to."
It was Thursday morning, and Vanessa was already at work with Robert in his office at Conrad Corporation. The wiser course might have been to spend her first few days looking for an apartment, but common sense stood no chance against the excited enthusiasm that churned in her stomach. She would not believe in this adventure until she had embarked on it.
"I know it's going to be smaller," Vanessa said, who had been doing some homework. "I know the population of Canada is only a tenth of the States'."
"It's also very spread out," Robert said. He reached to pick up a thickish wad of typewritten pages that were bound with a spiral of black plastic and a red cardboard cover. "We've asked Berringer and Hare to do the marketing report you asked me to get, and while that won't be ready for another week or two, it turns out they did a similar report for an American company two years ago. That company abandoned plans to move into the Canadian market, and Ben Hare let me have a copy of the report so we'd have something to look at while we're waiting. I've read it." Robert dropped his eyes to the report on his desk and absently rifled the pages. "I think you should." He looked up again, his eyes ever so slightly veiled. Vanessa felt the faintest tinge of alarm.
"What does it say?" she asked.
"It's pretty discouraging. On the other hand, it was written up for the economic climate of two years ago."
"Has the economic climate in Canada improved from two years ago?" Vanessa asked, her excitement subdued by the tone of Robert's voice.
"No..." said Robert, drawing out the vowel thoughtfully, and Vanessa smiled a half-smile. Of course it hadn't. There could hardly be a country in the world whose economic climate had improved during the past two years. A little breath of panic touched her. Had she been a fool to make such a profound change in her life with so little investigation? Was this project doomed to failure before she'd even begun?
"On the other hand, Vanessa," Robert was saying, "Jake hasn't backed many losers since I've known him. Jake likes to make money. And his decisions often run directly counter to prevailing opinion. So while you're reading this—" he passed the bound report across the desk to her "—remember that he picked you because he thinks you've got the talent and drive to make a success."
"Right," she returned quietly, knowing that, however much he tried to hide it, Robert had grave doubts.
"Right," repeated Robert, picking up a pen to make a small tick on a paper in front of him. "Now, next on the agenda: I've located a company in the fashion trade in Vancouver that's gone insolvent. Their factory is vacant and available, and best of all it seems to be equipped for the kind of operation you're going to want to set up. I suggest we go out there and have a look at it tomorrow. It could save you a lot of money—and time—to buy the place as it stands if it's suitable."
"All right," Vanessa nodded.
"I've set up an appointment with the trustee's representative at ten in the morning. That suit you?"
It suited her, and Robert made a notation on the agenda.
"Oh, yes, then there's the question of me," he said, raising his head. "Jake has asked me if I'd be willing to be seconded to you for the first six months while the thing gets started. I'm quite willing to do that if you, uh, if you want me to."
He was pulling awkwardly on his ear, and Vanessa felt a little burst of amused warmth for this odd quality of apology she had noticed among Canadians. In New York a man of Robert's ability—he was, after all, a top accountant in a large corporation—would not have put the suggestion to her in that way. He would more likely have made it clear that she was the recipient of a very large favour. She wondered if Canadians weren't a little like the Japanese, with their constant polite apology for the humbleness of their station, talents and possessions. With this difference—that Canadians really seemed to believe their own poor publicity.
Vanessa, however, did not believe it. She didn't need to be long in Robert's company to realize that he was financially very astute. Vanessa felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She wanted to be designing, not drawing up profit-and-loss statements, and she knew she could depend on Robert's business acumen. She smiled delightedly.
"Robert
, thank you! I'm saying yes before you change your mind!"
A good deal of Robert's charm lay in his slow shy smile, and he gave her the benefit of it now. "All right, we'll take that as settled, shall we?"
"You bet." Vanessa smiled, and thought what a strange contradiction Jake Conrad was, giving her everything in business and nothing at all where it really counted—in their personal relationship.
* * *
The television coverage of the funeral of Terry Fox was just beginning as Vanessa walked into the Concorp staff room later in the day, and people were crowded around a television set that sat against one wall of the room. Vanessa poured herself a cup of coffee from the urn and moved down to watch first the moving funeral service and then, more and more absorbed by that courageous young face, a documentary of the extraordinary mission of Terry Fox.
Again, during the film clips of his speeches, she noticed that odd quality of apology, of self-effacement. He had run not for himself but to show all those suffering from cancer, particularly the children, that the human spirit could triumph. "I am ordinary," his message seemed to say, "but I can rise above this because I have to. You can, too."
Then came the film of the moment Jake's chauffeur had mentioned, of the moment when Terry Fox, lying on a stretcher, told the Canadian nation that the cancer had reappeared in his lungs.
Tears choked her. Vanessa blinked them away, but her throat ached with her need to weep for this extraordinary, brave young man.
My God, she thought wonderingly a few minutes later as the documentary came to an end and she was released from the hypnotic hold of the story. People around her had unashamedly wet cheeks and a kind of glow behind their faces. My God, and they think he's ordinary! They think he's an ordinary man, like them, turned into a hero! They think they're ordinary, too! Vanessa gazed in startled wonder at the Canadian faces around her, so like and yet so different from their American counterparts. I can understand the ordinary being called extraordinary, she thought. What kind of a nation calls the extraordinary ordinary?
* * *
There was one Canadian, however, who was neither apologetic nor self-denigrating, and Vanessa bumped into him in a corridor shortly afterwards. She was wearing her coat and carrying her handbag and the market report Robert had given her. Jake raised a startled eyebrow and smiled at her.
"Starting work already?" he asked. "I didn't expect to see you today. Are you looking for Robert or me?"
"Neither, at the moment," Vanessa replied with an odd little burst of pride because she had surprised him. "I've just spent most of the morning with Robert, and I'm on my way home to read this." She indicated the market report she was holding. She had already read some of it, and what she had read was disturbing. "But I'd certainly appreciate the chance to talk to you when I've read it."
Jake looked at her consideringly. "What is it?"
"It's a market report that was done a couple of years ago," Vanessa said. "I've only started it, but it's pretty depressing."
"So depressing it made you cry?" asked Jake.
"What? Of course not!" Vanessa almost snorted in derision. Cry over a market report? What on earth did he think of her?
Jake lifted an eyebrow. "Your mascara has run," he explained softly.
"Well, it wasn't running because of any market report, I assure you!" Vanessa said, outraged, then recollected herself. "If you do have any time to spare," she said more calmly, "I'd appreciate being able to discuss this report with you."
Heavy lids dropped over his dark eyes, hiding their expression from her. "But of course," Jake said urbanely. "My secretary will call you with an appointment."
She hated it when he retreated behind that business-like exterior. She felt no different to him than any of the countless other people who worked for him and with him.
She was suddenly hot with the desire to shake this indifferent attitude of his that said there was nothing between them except a management contract each had signed. Vanessa looked up into the cold, tightly drawn mask of his face and opened her mouth to speak.
For a moment she felt just a little apprehensive about what man would emerge if she did succeed in shattering that mask, but she was driven by something beyond her control.
"Considering that I never did anything to hurt you, you're the most unforgiving man I've ever met," she said shakily.
Damn the man, what was he doing to her? This was lunacy.
"What?" demanded Jake in a deep hoarse voice.
"You punish me far more than Jace would have. Jace would have understood and forgiven me ages ago."
"Would he?" Jake's eyes glinted as he barked a harsh laugh. "You may be right. Jace always was a damned trusting fool."
"And you're just a damned fool?" she snapped.
He laughed then in real, if cynical, amusement, as though at a private joke.
"You're right," he said softly. "The big difference between me and Jace is that he was trusting and I am not. And that, Vanessa, whether you know it or not, is what makes you angry. You keep thinking you're going to be able to pull the wool over my eyes the way you did la—the way you did with Jace. And when you don't succeed—"
She wished now she had left the mask alone. Bitterly, she interrupted, "You've really got a sense of mission, haven't you? You're good—you could be out fomenting a religious war somewhere instead of wasting yourself on business!"
She pushed by him and stalked up the corridor, and if he meant to call after her he was forestalled by the appearance of a group of his employees emerging just then from the elevator.
* * *
On Friday morning she went with Robert to view the factory without having discussed with Jake the contents of the market-research report she had now read.
The full report had more than lived up to the disturbing inferences she had drawn from her first quick glance through it. Vanessa hadn't slept well after reading it, and now she had to force herself to concentrate on what Robert and the trustee's assistant were saying about the factory they were going to see.
"Here we are," announced Robert as the assistant, a quiet-looking woman named Moira, pulled the car to a stop in front of a three-story grey brick building that looked about fifty years old.
Vanessa stood assessing the exterior as Moira produced a key, and then they all trooped inside. The factory itself was on the ground floor; the sewing machines and irons and hanging rails were all still in place. Vanessa drew in a long slow breath. She'd thought the market report had prepared her, but there was a difference, it seemed, between knowing and seeing.
"Is this the entire factory floor?" she asked.
"That's right." Moira consulted her clipboard. "Thirty-eight sewing machines and six ironing stations," she said. "However, there's lots of room for expansion, Mrs. Standish. There are two tenants on the second floor of the building. Both are on five-year leases that expire in three years. And the whole third floor is empty at present."
It was cleaner and brighter than a lot of factories Vanessa had seen, and walls and ceilings were painted the same light grey as the outside of the building. Odd bits of bright summery fabric and thread were littered on the floor and tables, a sad reminder that not so long ago this factory had been a bustling enterprise and that what they were presiding over was something like a funeral. Vanessa shivered. Could she build success on the bones of so recent a failure?
Moira took them through the shipping and receiving areas and the cutting room. Everything was on the same small scale as the factory.
Off the small reception area where they had come in was a flight of stairs by which Moira led them to the second floor.
"Now here," she said, "are the administrative offices, design office and showroom...."
It took them two hours to go over the premises to Vanessa's satisfaction, and even so she was aware of holes in her own knowledge that made it difficult for her to assess the building.
Back in Robert's office at Conrad Corporation they discussed the drawbacks and
advantages. There were not many disadvantages. The space truly seemed almost ideal for their purposes.
"Robert," Vanessa said at last, tossing her notebook and pen down and leaning back, "did you check into why the company that had this space went bankrupt?"
Robert sat up and pulled a folder from a drawer in his desk. "Mostly it was because they were under-capitalized. They tried to do too much with too little. Also—" he pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and consulted the papers in the folder "—they weren't careful enough with their credit. We don't have the first problem, and I'll make sure we don't run into the other two." He smiled.
"Do you think we should go for this, Robert?"
It was a complicated decision. Since the bankrupt company had owned the building Vanessa had the choice of merely buying up all the machinery and equipment and finding factory space elsewhere or buying the building, as well. The former course involved minimal risk, the latter much more.
"Not unless we can guarantee ourselves some tenants on the third floor, in any case," Robert said.
"Could we do that?"
Robert looked thoughtful. "We could, if we lease them to companies in Conrad Corporation."
"Oh!" Vanessa blinked. For some reason that gave her an odd feeling of being part of a family.
"If I'm not mistaken," Robert continued, "there are one or two companies in buildings not owned by Concorp whose leases are coming up for renewal. I'll look into that. In fact...." He paused, and a smile lighted his eyes. Vanessa wasn't experienced enough to recognize it as the smile of an accountant who has discovered something Absolutely Risk-Free; she only knew that it made her lean forward in curious expectation.
"In fact, if we're lucky, Conrad Corporation just might buy the building for us. Then they could have the leasing headaches, and we would lease only the space we need...." Vanessa was fascinated to see how quickly Conrad Corporation had become "they" to Robert, and the new company "we."
"I'll run it by Jake and see what he thinks."
Fire in the Wind Page 14
