He didn’t want to scare the kids. “Liz!” He kept his voice low but sharp. “Hand me a vest and get yours on right away!”
“What’s the matter, Zach?” she said.
“Take a look!” He motioned to the northwest. Liz was an experienced sailor and she understood the danger as soon as she saw that black cloud. She yanked open the hatch where the life vests were stowed and handed one to Zach. The boys were wearing theirs, and she checked their straps and got her own on, real fast.
“You take the helm,” Zach said. “Hold her at two eighty-five as close as you can.”
He went forward, his mind racing. Get those sails shortened, fast! Have to try to outrun it. Where’s that damn cloud tracking anyway? No use going to the engine. This racing sloop’s underpowered, only a two-blade folding prop. If the seas get bad, that engine isn’t going to push.
He reefed the sails down fast and got back into the cockpit. The solid black edge of cloud was much closer, coming at them fast, traveling more easterly than he’d expected.
“Liz! I’m going to have to tack! Get the harnesses on the boys!”
He shifted his course.
Got to get more southerly! I might not outrun this!
Liz had got the harness on Petey, its line secured to the pedestal’s base, when the wall of water hit them.
Again, and again, that terrible moment replayed itself, a moment frozen in constant, dreadful slow motion. Zach was helpless to stop it, and helpless to forget it.
The great mass of water filled the sky above them, crashing down, turning the boat into a toy, lifting it up and rolling it onto its side. And as the boat rolled, the thundering waves swept across Liz and cast Rob overboard.
Liz was flung hard against the boat’s coaming. She had seen Robby go over.
“Liz! No!”
Zach was fighting to hold the boat steady, but the winds came with the water, fierce, roaring, screaming winds churning the sea in all directions, forcing the boat down at a steep angle, whipping up sharp-faced waves that poured over the decks.
He saw Liz go over the side, clinging to the lifeline with one hand, trying to reach for Robby. But the line was under water, and the waves thundering around them were twelve feet high. Liz was swept away almost immediately.
All the rest was terrible confusion. Petey, clinging desperately to the pedestal, was crying to him in terror. Zach fought repeatedly to bring the boat around, back to where he’d last had a glimpse of the bright orange life vests. But the winds drove the boat back, back, relentlessly forcing her finally onto the shoals.
She was grounded, trapped, lying helplessly on her side as the violent winds slammed her down, and down, and down, repeatedly, her sails flapping, her decks standing up at a sharp angle, swept mercilessly by the great waves.
Zach grabbed for Petey’s harness line, giving the slack a quick turn around the pedestal guard to hold him fast. He reached into the cabin and pulled the radio mike from its holder and switched to the Coast Guard emergency channel.
“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Summer Wind calling Canal Coast Guard! Urgent!” He could hear the chatter of other mayday calls on the radio.
“Come in, Summer Wind.”
“I’m aground on Billingsgate Shoal! Northeast of Bell One!”
“Are you wearing your flotation device, Summer Wind?”
Oh, God. “Yes! Yes! I lost my wife and son out there! To the northeast, about a mile and half, maybe two!”
“Okay, Summer Wind. We’re on it. We’ll get there as fast as we can.”
He dropped the mike back into the cabin, where tools and teakettle and books were being flung in all directions. He made his way forward, fighting to reach the mast, where he snapped his tether to the base. He grabbed a spare halyard and wound it around himself, lashing his body to the mast.
He never saw the boom, finally whipped loose from the mast, or its gooseneck joint flying at his head.
He was not conscious when the Coast Guard found them. When he opened his eyes, he was lying on the deck of the rescue boat, and he saw them lifting Petey’s drowned body out of Summer Wind’s cockpit. Then he lost consciousness again.
Liz and Rob were never found, and it was presumed that their bodies had sunk to the bottom of the bay.
* * *
It was past twelve-thirty when Zach brought the catboat back into its slip. His clothes were drenched with sweat and his eyes were red from weeping. He tied the little boat up for the night, and dropped her sail and furled it on the boom. Then, exhausted, he sat on the empty dock for a long time, watching the moon’s reflection on the quiet surface of the water.
At last, he stood up, went to his truck, and drove back to his house on the hill. There, he went through the dark rooms, directly to the bedroom upstairs. He peeled off all his clothes and dropped them on the floor. The moonlight was flooding the room, and he went to the window and stood there naked, bathed in the cool light, with his hands braced up high on the window’s frame. His body felt as though it had been violently beaten. And yet, strangely, for the first time in eight years, he felt ready—no, eager—for the coming day. How long had it been since he had known such a whole, healthy sense of well-being?
When he’d first lost Liz and the boys, he’d thought his heart would never heal. After the funerals, he had closed down the offices in Boston and New York and retreated to the house on the Cape, living quietly with his pain and his guilt and his broken heart. Some days had been worse than others, and the nights were always bad, but slowly, slowly, he’d been able to live a fairly normal life, as long as he kept it simple. For eight years, in some unconscious place in his soul, he had held Liz and the boys tight against him, as though, if only his grip could be strong enough, they would not really be swept away from him. For eight years, nothing had loosened his grasp. Occasionally, after the first years, there had been women, briefly, in his life. That had helped him keep his sanity, but he was never able to be seriously interested in any of them. For eight years, he had locked his torment away in his heart, and for eight years, nothing had come into his life to comfort him.
And then Allie Randall stepped off a plane, and the sunlight shone around her and she lifted her hand against the breeze, and his life was changed forever.
Zach grinned into the moonlight. Until tonight, he’d been acting like an idiot toward her. No, he’d been acting like a lovesick kid. He laughed aloud. Maybe they were the same thing. It had sure been good for him. He laughed again, there in the dark, as he gazed across the lawn behind his house, into the trees where he’d caught a glimpse of her that morning, tiptoeing around in the trees.
What the hell had she been up to that morning? Zach stopped laughing. This matter of the Mayflower project was going to have to be cleared up between them. There was no way he would ever let that scheme become a reality, with their fool “rides” and tourist attractions out in the bay. Liz and Rob were still lying somewhere at the bottom of those waters, and Petey had died there, and Zach Eliot would see to it that their souls were allowed to sleep in peace.
It would mean that Allie would lose her big opportunity, but that couldn’t be helped. No one’s career moves straight forward, and she’d just have to withstand this loss. And if he couldn’t figure out a way to make it up to her, he wasn’t the man he thought he was. He’d seen her work and he knew she was damned good. He should be able to come up with something. But in any case, he was going to kill that project.
He went over to the bed and sat down on its edge, resting his arms on his knees, his head bent in concentrated thought. Finally, he’d made some decisions. He lay back, his head on his pillow, and closed his eyes, grinning happily again.
He was up before sunrise and made a pot of coffee. He found he was ravenous, and he fried a couple of eggs and sausages and had some toast and jam and butter. Then he showered and shaved. By six-thirty, he was on the first plane out of Provincetown, headed for his meeting with the chairman of Matsuhara’s board.
Chapter Fourteen
“It sure don’t look the same, does it, ma’am?” The cab driver looked up at the Tillman Building rising high above Madison Avenue, its upper stories catching the first light of the sun rising over the East River. He shook his head sorrowfully.
Allie counted out a handful of bills and handed them to the driver, pausing to look up through the cab’s window before she opened the door. “I see what you mean,” she said. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”
The famous brass plaque, with the fine old art deco figures that had long been a New York landmark, had been replaced. Across the polished black granite façade that now covered the first three floors of the building had been etched the words “Matsuhara Worldwide” along with the company’s logo, a globe resting in cupped hands.
Allie paused for a moment on the sidewalk bracing herself for the important meeting ahead of her, glad that Adam would be there to help steer her through this unfamiliar and frightening maze of corporate negotiations.
The cab driver, before he pulled away from the curb, gave her an appreciative, quick, up-and-down glance, noting with approval the pale pink linen suit, the sleek legs and the cream-colored pumps, the honey-gold hair worn loose. Very feminine, he thought, for such an obviously no-nonsense woman. And the big black leather portfolio is a nice touch. An artist, apparently. Maybe in advertising. He decided she was a real knockout, definitely an A-plus. Looked like she was on her way to a big meeting. He could always tell when they had that intense, keyed-up look this early in the morning.
He tipped his hand to her in a kind of salute and smiled up at her through the window. “Have a good day,” he said as he put the car in gear. “And don’t take any prisoners!” He slid out into the Madison Avenue traffic and was gone.
Allie laughed nervously. “I needed that,” she assured herself, glad to have the cabbie’s little pep cheer. She pushed on through the revolving doors and headed for the farthest bank of elevators, express to the eighty-third floor, distracted somewhat by the unfamiliar clicking of her high heels on the lobby’s marble floor.
The elevator door opened to steel gray carpet and enormous potted ferns. Tall glass panels guarded the entrance to a reception area that seemed to be all windows, looking out over the East River, with a clear view of the traffic-laden 59th Street Bridge bringing the morning crush of cars into Manhattan. In front of the windows, there were two huge couches upholstered in deep rose and tables topped with black glass, on which were displayed a handful of magazines, and the pale gray walls were graced by the usual leased collection of fine art. All was presided over by a trim young woman with a trendy hairdo and good legs, who sat behind a chrome-and-black-glass desk, dividing her attention between her morning cup of coffee and her telephone system which, despite the early hour, was keeping her busy.
“Allie, I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Adam was waiting for her, standing at one of the black glass tables near the enormous windows, taking advantage of the few spare minutes to make a couple of phone calls. He motioned at her to join him and, as she walked across the room, he finished his call. “Okay, Hal. I should be done here at about nine.” Allie was about to sit down, but Adam signaled her to remain standing, taking her elbow as he continued talking. “Sure thing, Hal. Call my secretary and set up a meeting with your people for ten o’clock. See you later.” As usual, there were no good-byes. He slipped the phone into his pocket and gave Allie a big smile, putting an arm around her and planting a kiss on her check. “You look marvelous, dear. That outfit’s so corporate, I can’t believe it’s yours.”
“I borrowed it.” Thank God for Maria. “What did you think I was going to wear? Jeans and a t-shirt?”
“One never knows, Allie. One never knows.” He steered her through a door that led from the reception area into an anteroom from which several doors opened, and Adam paused to point, in succession, to each of the doors. “Those first two are conference rooms. The next is the executive men’s room—then the ladies’, and that”—he indicated the door at the far end of the room—“is the big guy’s office. Maybe you’ll get a chance to see it sometime. It’s quite an eyeful, only they guard it like the Pentagon. Not many people get admitted.”
Allie noted that this anteroom, while large, was far more intimate than the big reception area they had just left. The walls were covered in a deep rose-colored fabric and the windows were softly draped, filtering the morning light into a bright glow. The single couch, flanked by end tables, appeared to be more comfortable than the rather forbidding ones outside, and on the long table in front of the couch had been placed this morning’s Wall Street Journal and the Washington Post, the Financial Times of London and the most recent Fortune magazine. On another long table, just beyond the window, there was a great bunch of lilies, tastefully arranged, in a tall crystal vase.
And at a desk just before the last door, there was a secretary, her computer screen blinking, her message pads and paper clips and sharpened pencils a marvel of efficient tidiness. Built into the top of her desk was an electronic panel, and Allie suspected that this was part of the guard system that protected “the big guy.” This secretary’s legs were not so good, and her waistline had spread a bit; her hair was short and neat and her glasses were dark-rimmed. She smiled coolly at Adam and Allie as she pointed with her pencil to one of the doors.
“You’ll be meeting in Conference Room B, Mr. Talmadge.”
“Thank you, Ms. Richman.” He paused before opening the door to the conference room. “By the way, I’d like you to meet Allie Randall.”
“I’m glad to know you, Ms. Randall. I’ve been hearing about you.” She smiled again, a little more warmly, taking in Allie’s pink suit and cream-colored blouse and pumps and the big leather portfolio she was carrying. Apparently she approved.
“I’m glad to meet you, too,” Allie said, brushing at her bangs, smiling at Ms. Richman. Allie wasn’t comfortable in the midst of all this corporate chrome and glass, with its huge windows looking out over the whole city. However, if all went well, she’d be here to do a job, and she was already noting details of lighting—too much fluorescent—and composition and color. With all those windows and the skyscrapers visible through them, the dominating mood was strongly vertical and very much removed from ordinary human affairs. She felt as though she had sailed high above the real world, into a never-never land where lions and tigers were masquerading in pin-striped suits. She hoped they wouldn’t eat her up alive.
Adam understood, of course, and provided a protective shield for her. He led her directly into the conference room, and as they entered it, four men at the far end of an enormous black conference table stood up, most formally.
“Let me introduce these gentlemen,” Adam said. Allie knew she would never remember the names and titles of each of the men and she was always astonished by Adam’s ability to put on that performance, never fazed by unpronounceable foreign names and complex job titles. She knew that it was a part of his being very good at what he did.
Of course, Allie was also being very good at what she did, and she was doing it right now. She was observing all the details around her. On a table near the door there was a steaming coffee urn and platters of sweet rolls, and bowls of fresh strawberries had been set out. The conference table had yellow pads and newly sharpened pencils set before each place and there were several trays with pitchers of ice water and glasses. Big leather and chrome chairs were lined up around the massive table. There were no windows in the room, but there were pictures on the gray walls, prints of flowers and birds, obviously brought in by a mass supplier of “art” for corporate offices.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Randall,” said the man at the far end of the table, apparently speaking for the others. They were all young men, Allie noted, but this one seemed to be the most senior of them. Allie shook hands with each man in turn. She noted the almost identical suits of the four men and the almost identical expression on each of
the four faces, an unsettling combination of an eagerness to please, a fear of failure, and a greedy, ambitious self-centeredness. “We’re waiting for the rest of the committee to arrive,” said the spokesman. “If you would like, please have some coffee.”
“Come with me, Allie,” Adam said. “I’ll get you a cup.” He walked back with her to the table at the other end of the big room. “I know you,” he said. “You haven’t had any breakfast, have you?” He put a prune Danish on a plate and handed it to her. “Not exactly nutritious, but it’ll keep you going.” He bent his head lower as he ran some coffee from the urn into a cup for her. Quietly, he said to her, “You don’t need to do anything. I’ll do all the talking.” He smiled confidently at her as he handed her the cup, and added, “They really like your work, Allie. And they’re still in a honeymoon with this acquisition, so they’re spending big money. All you have to do is sit back and look lovely.” He took one more approving look and leaned his head closer to her, his manner conspiratorial. “You really do look lovely in your borrowed finery. Now don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Just follow my lead.”
He selected a chair for her midway between the center and the unoccupied end of the table. Then he sat next to her, placing himself between her and the four men. They all smiled pleasantly at each other. Allie understood that Adam’s selection of chairs was part of his game plan and he was positioning her for the greatest advantage.
In a moment, when the rest of the committee arrived, she understood the game better. Three men came into the room. One of them, clearly the oldest, took the chair at the head of the table, nearest the door. Another sat at his right and pulled a pad of yellow paper toward him. He took a fountain pen from his pocket, unscrewed it, and marked down the date and the time. The third man went to the urn and filled a cup with coffee. He added just the barest touch of cream and one and a half spoonfuls of sugar. Then he brought it back to the older man at the head of the table and set it in front of him before taking the seat to his left.
Summer on the Cape Page 16
