Fire in the Wind

by Alexandra Sellers

  Vanessa blinked. "Public crucifixion," she repeated softly. "I wonder what's worse—being accused and getting your day in court or just being accused?"

  "As a lawyer," David smiled, "I naturally want everyone to have their day in court. Either way, however, a little mud sticks a long time. Is someone siccing 'the fifth estate' onto you?"

  "I think so," said Vanessa. "Or the law; I'm not sure which." She paused as the waiter brought their salads and then told David about the sub-contractors and the home sewers. She didn't tell him about the file from Jake's desk or all the other ways in which he was threatening her livelihood. She would have to later, if she wanted his advice on the contract and the lease, but just now it was unnecessary. This was much more urgent.

  When she was through, David shook his head.

  "All right," he said, "first things first: you aren't in contravention of the minimum-wage laws. You contract the work out, Vanessa. The sub-contractors are self-employed, not employees, and legally, what you pay them isn't a wage. Even if your sub-contractor were stupid enough to hire the home sewers as his employees, which I can guarantee you he is not, they would still be his employees, not yours. But you can take it as read that he contracts the work out to them, and if they disclose that income on their income tax—which again is highly unlikely, especially if, as you say, most are on welfare—if they do, it's as self-employed income. So you aren't doing anything illegal."

  Vanessa was suddenly a lot hungrier than she had been a few minutes ago. She attacked her salad with a smile of relief.

  "However," David went on after a moment, "'the fifth estate' is another matter. They deal in ethics and public morals as much as in legality. You're pretty small potatoes, it seems to me, to make an interesting story: one little manufacturer doing the kind of thing everyone does to survive. I imagine 'the fifth estate' would want to go after someone much bigger than you in a story like that: they'd want evidence that the government or a crown corporation or a big well-known business was knowingly involved in this sort of stuff.

  "Where it seems to me that you might be vulnerable—and I'm getting out of my field here—is with your union. Are your plant workers unionised?"

  Vanessa nodded.

  "Yeah," said David. "Well, one thing that unions don't like is non-unionised home labour. It threatens their jobs. Am I right?"

  He was right, and this aspect of the affair had not struck her before. She, Robert and Ted had certainly not advertised the fact that they were sub-contracting, either to the plant workers or to the union representative, who called so frequently at Number 24 that Robert complained she thought it was her home. If the union found out....

  "If your union finds out about it," David said aloud in nearly perfect time with her thoughts, "you could have troubles."

  "Yeah," breathed Vanessa.

  "It sounds to me," said David, "as though this didn't just happen. It sounds as though you've got an enemy around stirring up trouble. Otherwise, why 'the fifth estate'? Why not merely come to you and demand changes?"

  She was glad he was so quick to pick up on that; she wouldn't feel so embarrassed, perhaps, when she had to tell him the whole story of the enemy who wanted to destroy her.

  "Yes," she said quietly. "I have an enemy. I'm trying to figure out what weak spot he'll attack next."

  "Who is it, the competition?"

  Well, not exactly. Vanessa gave a little laugh. "David, the—I don't... I'd like to discuss the rest of it with you, but it's not necessary right now. This was urgent. I was afraid I was going to be arrested. Could I call you at the office for an appointment?"

  "Sure," said David. "Give me a call Monday."

  They slipped into another conversation with the arrival of the main course. David had an afternoon engagement, so after Vanessa had paid the check, he drove her down to the Granville Mall and dropped her.

  "Thanks for lunch," he said, pulling away. "I'll call you if you don't call me."

  The sight of blue-and-white police cars no longer made her jump as Vanessa wandered lazily through the speciality shops looking for buttons and lace. The relief of knowing she wouldn't be arrested at any moment lightened her spirit so much she felt she could fly. Anything else was a molehill compared to that. Union troubles, investigative journalists—she could take on the world as long as the police weren't after her.

  She found a beautiful gold lace for her costume, that even Richard Lovelace would have loved, and chose antique gold buttons and gold lacing with the satisfaction of knowing the costume would be very striking against her russet hair.

  At four o'clock she caught the bus home. Walking from the bus stop, her ponytail swinging jauntily from shoulder to shoulder, Vanessa felt full of energy and vitality. She was free. No one was going to take that from her. As Barney ran across the lawn toward her, mewing a welcome, she ran up the front steps and inside the house.

  Barney raced up the stairs ahead of her, but Vanessa wasn't far behind. At the top of the stairs she flung her shoulder bag and packages onto the small hall table and spread out her arms.

  "Home!" she exclaimed happily, and it was her safe haven again.

  Chapter 17

  "All right." David Latham leaned back in his leather chair and patted the flat of one hand on the desk. "Some of what Jake Conrad is threatening you with is bluff, and some of it has real teeth in it."

  David's office was only moderately luxurious, but he was a partner in what she had learned was one of the more prestigious legal firms in Vancouver. She had also learned, from Ilona, that Q.C. meant Queen's Counsel, which was a crown appointment in Canada, as in England, and meant that David had both impressive talents and contacts. Lou Standish would have been proud of her: this was no "hole-in-the-wall kid." David Latham was a real legal eagle.

  "Let's deal with the simple things first," said David. "You can stop worrying about your lease. If you're given notice under the provisions of clause thirteen or fourteen, you just sit tight. If Conrad wants to evict you, he can take you to court. Any strike would be over before it got before a judge. If necessary, we can tie it up in court forever. He won't get you out against your will."

  Vanessa's eyes sparkled. "Really?" she demanded. "But Jake would be bound to know that—why would he bother?"

  "From what you've told me, I would say, in the interests of simple harassment. He can cause you discomfort pretty effectively—but we'll just cause him a little more, make him think twice about what he's doing." He smiled. Every time David used the word "we" Vanessa felt a lightening of her spirits.

  "The same thing is true of the Fairway contract. They could try to pull something of the sort Conrad outlined to you—if someone in there is stupid enough to get the company tied up in a legal battle merely as a favour to Jake Conrad, but I doubt very much if anyone is. Your contract with Fairway is cut and dried. The worst thing you have to worry about is that they might not renew the order with you when this one is filled. You know better than I do what effect that will have on Number 24."

  "We can do without them," said Vanessa, thanking God she had stuck to her guns so that that statement was true.

  "Fine. Now about 'the fifth estate': on further consideration, I thought you should bear in mind the possibility that you might be included in a broader investigation, say, of the garment industry as a whole. So if you do get a call, you stonewall it. Refuse to comment—if that doesn't work, refer them to me."

  "Thank you, David," she said, wanting to laugh in Jake's face.

  "In the meantime, can you stop using sub-contractors?"

  Vanessa shook her head. Her discussion with Robert on the subject had been their first really vituperative argument since they had started working together. "We're into it now, Vanessa. Against my advice, let me remind you, but it's too late now. It boils down to this," he had said finally. "Do you want to survive or not?" And that had clinched the argument: they were tied into sub-contracting for two seasons at least.

  "All right," said David easi
ly, dismissing it with a wave. "Now, your visa: as you've realized yourself, it's no problem. You're your own employer. The laws are there to prevent foreigners from taking jobs away from Canadians. You are creating fifty or sixty jobs. The government isn't going to push those fifty or sixty Canadians into the ranks of the unemployed to please Jake Conrad, believe me. Just go down and get a permanent visa at your leisure."

  There was a pause then, and Vanessa took a deep breath. "What's the bad news, David?"

  He told her that Jake was in a position to call the debenture at any time and that the only way she could avoid bankruptcy if he did so would be to refinance the company. Because it was a very young company with no track record, in David's opinion there would be almost no chance of her finding a bank willing to undertake the refinancing. Did she have any financial backing of her own, anyone who might lend her the money to buy up the debenture?

  There was one, of course. There had always been one.

  "Well, there's a possibility," she said. As long as it was a loan, a business loan that would earn them interest like any other investment, that would be different, wouldn't it? "More than a possibility," she amended. "Almost a certainty, if I want to ask."

  David said bluntly, "I advise you to ask. Having your own backing would put you out of reach of Conrad's power, Vanessa—the other things he's threatened, such as picking off your salesmen, you'll be able to ride through if you have the backing."

  She said, "I've got to think about it. Is there any other alternative?"

  "There's doing what you're doing now—wondering when, where and if the axe is going to fall."

  She picked that up. "Where else can it fall?"

  "I'm afraid this is where you start to feel the teeth. In your management contract you agreed to a restraint of trade for five years in any area where you'd be in direct competition with the company you've built. He can probably hold you to that."

  Vanessa blanched. "When I signed it I thought I'd be marketing only in Vancouver. Does that mean I couldn't sell anywhere in Canada?"

  "There's been legal controversy lately about whether anyone can be prevented from pursuing their gainful occupation, but the chances are Conrad could get an injunction to prevent your working anywhere in Canada."

  Vanessa took a deep breath. Where it really counted, it seemed, Jake had the power. "What about in the States?" she asked, brushing a tendril of hair from her forehead with fingertips that felt cool.

  "That depends on a lot of things." David sat forward and tapped his fingers on the desk. "If the U.S. manufacturer who hires you has a sizeable market anywhere in Canada where he'd be in competition with Number 24, at the very least Conrad could take it to court. If you wanted to start up your own business, he'd probably get an injunction preventing you from entering the Canadian market. In any case, Vanessa, he has the power to make your life miserable if you abandon Number 24 now. Unless, of course, you also abandon the design of ladies' wear and go into a different branch of the field."

  "Such as children's wear," Vanessa said, noticing the odd fact that being cornered was a real physical feeling, as though there were walls all around her. Could Jake Conrad really destroy her career like this, with one powerful stroke?

  "What if I just wreck the company, force it into bankruptcy through bad management?" she asked.

  "I'd go very carefully on that one," David said. "It might be difficult to prove, but he could certainly tie you up in some very ugly litigation. And it wouldn't do your future job prospects much good, I imagine."

  No. "So my only hope is to get the new backing," she said slowly.

  "Unless you want to stay where you are and call Conrad's bluff," David pointed out. "Once he forced you into bankruptcy, of course, he'd have no more power over you."

  "Of course," she agreed distantly. Funny, she thought, he's got power over my integrity, too. I always thought no one could touch that except myself, but he's going to force me to do the one thing I've always refused to do. I've got to ask the Standishes for money. I wonder if he knew that?

  * * *

  Barney had decided to adopt Vanessa. He waited on the front step almost every day now for her to come home from work; and her bookish neighbour, coming in at the same time as she did one evening and watching Barney tear up the stairs when she unlocked her door, remarked with calm humour that he would be suing her for alienation of affection.

  Vanessa was glad of the cat. She had never owned one, and she found that she had been missing something quite wonderful in her life. A cat was good company, and a soft purring body in your lap could be a great comfort.

  The October days were growing shorter, she realized, coming home one evening to find Barney splayed out lazily on the wide top step to catch the last rays of the sun. She laughed at him, bending to caress his stomach as she mounted the front steps and then unlocking the door. Barney, wise in the ways of creative leisure, didn't move from his position until the door was open. Then, without even a glance to orient himself, he leaped up and dashed inside with her.

  Immediately he was impatient for the second door to be opened, and he mewed demandingly for her to hurry with the key.

  "You're a dreadful beast," Vanessa said caressingly as she followed his lithe body up the stairs. "Did anyone ever tell you you're a dreadful selfish beast?"

  "Once or twice," said a voice as she reached the top, making her gasp and whirl, nearly losing her footing. A male figure stepped forward from the sitting-room door.

  "How did you know I was here?" asked Jake Conrad.

  "You!" Vanessa said harshly in a voice too loud. "What do you want?"

  She was poised, ready for flight. Barney wreathed around her ankles on his tiptoes, head up, tail up, back arched, at his most appealing.

  "What do you think I want?" Jake asked in a quiet voice.

  In the silence Barney's purr sounded like a truck motor with one piston missing. Vanessa glanced down and tried to push his furry body away with her foot, because if she had to start running she didn't want to be tripped up. But Barney was feeling friendly as well as hungry; and he knew that once he had made it clear to the human's inferior intelligence that he would actually deign to be patted, she would be thrilled by the honour. Humans always were. So he came back and flung himself against her instep and gave one or two ecstatic little cries to encourage her.

  "I really could not say," Vanessa said levelly. "Suppose you tell me."

  "What would you say if I told you I—wanted to make an apology?" he asked in a matter-of-fact voice, and Vanessa's face lost all expression. She did not believe him for a minute. This was just another move in his game. She stared at him, her eyes cold, and almost eerily there was utter silence for a moment as Barney stopped purring.

  "Get out," she said, contempt threading her cool low voice. What kind of a fool did the man take her for? "Get out of here."

  His face darkened, and he shrugged. "I can oblige," he said, his voice going up on a warning note, "but it would be better for you to listen to what I have to say."

  "Yes?" she said brightly. "Why?" Barney, purring again, was making encouraging little forays toward the kitchen and back again, trying to make her understand. He gazed up at her, radiating lovableness.

  "Because you are in a vulnerable position and I hold all the cards."

  "I don't think so," Vanessa replied coolly. She didn't move from her strategic position at the top of the stairs.

  "Vanessa, I want to talk to you," Jake said doggedly. "If you'll listen to me now I won't bother you again."

  "You don't bother me now," she said in level scornful tones. "Please get out of my house." It wasn't true that he didn't bother her. Her heart was beating in her ears. She realized that she was afraid of Jake.

  He was wearing blue jeans and the navy bomber jacket he had loaned her the day he took her to the top of Grouse Mountain; the thought crossed her mind that that had been in the spring and now it was fall. How much had happened in between! She had lived a lifetime
in four and a half months.

  Taking his hands out of the pockets in a movement that caused her heart to thump, Jake said evenly, "If you don't listen to me, I'll phone the police."

  "And tell them what?" she demanded. "I've had legal advice, Jake. I am not the employer of all those people you so painstakingly interviewed! So what are you planning on charging me with?"

  He took that without a blink and said carelessly, "It might cause you inconvenience, nonetheless, to have the charges investigated."

  She thought of David saying, No one would be bothered with small potatoes like you, and smiled.

  "However," said Jake, "there's also a charge of illegal entry and theft—"

  "There is, if you want to risk a counter-charge of blackmail!" Vanessa shot back triumphantly.

  His eyebrows snapped together. "What?"

  "You'll have to show them the file I stole, won't you? I'll tell the police you were using the contents of that file to get sexual favours from me, that you were blackmailing me with the fear of criminal prosecution! How will you like that?"

  She couldn't imagine what corner of her mind that had surfaced from, but she felt exactly the same exhilaration that she sometimes felt when she came up with a new design. She began to laugh.

  "But don't stop there, Jake! You've got lots more threats you can use against me, haven't you?" She sobered, and her face was suddenly grim. "Why don't you threaten to call the debenture tomorrow? That's what you want to do, isn't it? Or to crook your finger to bring Robert back to Concorp? Only I don't think that would work, Jake! I think Robert likes working with me. I think if I told him what you're doing he'd stay at Number 24 with me!"

  Unexpectedly her voice cracked, and blinking, she dropped her eyes. Barney was on his hind legs, pawing delicately at her knee.

  Jake's voice was wooden. "I wouldn't be at all surprised," he said, and Barney started in surprise as a tear fell on his handsome chest. "Don't forget, in your triumph, that Robert is a Catholic. He might not leave Maria for you as readily as he'd leave me!"