Breaking the Rules (Harte Family Saga Book 7)

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  “Hi, hi, hi!” Geo exclaimed from the doorway, and came bouncing into the room full of energy and vitality, a bright smile on her face.

  “Good morning, and you’re in good spirits,” M answered, smiling back. “I just made coffee a few minutes ago, so it’s nice and fresh.”

  Geo nodded. “I’ll come and join you, and incidentally, James stayed over last night, so don’t be surprised if he comes wandering in shortly.”

  “It’ll be nice to see him,” M replied, meaning this.

  As she poured herself a mug of coffee, Geo announced, “I have some great news.”

  “You’re engaged to James,” M asserted, hoping this was true.

  “No, not yet.” Geo sat down opposite M, leaned over the table, and added, “But if he asks I’m going to say yes.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it, and I’d kill you if you didn’t. So what is your news?”

  “I got a call last night from Annette Lazenby. She’s alive and kicking. And in Rome! What a relief it was to finally hear from her.”

  “I bet it was, and did she tell you why there has been such a long silence?” M asked, suddenly riddled with curiosity about a woman she barely knew.

  “She did. She said she’d had a bad case of bronchitis. I think it was only because of James’s intervention that she got out of Afghanistan safely.”

  “I didn’t know he’d intervened,” M said, looking surprised.

  “Sort of. . . . He called someone he knows, who’s now based in Pakistan, and asked him to do a bit of checking.” Geo shrugged, rolled her eyes. “That’s all I know. James didn’t tell me anything else.”

  “Well, he wouldn’t, would he? And I bet he’s a good man to have in a crisis. I think men like James usually operate on the premise that the less one knows about something problematical, the better off one is. Don’t you agree?”

  “I do, yes.” Clearing her throat and changing the subject, Geo said, “So, from the few little tidbits you’ve thrown my way, I think you really did get your first break, didn’t you, M? It’s a big one, isn’t it?”

  M grinned. “Yes, it is, and I’m thrilled. Thanks to Luke and his photographs, I’m going to be under contract to Jean-Louis Tremont. I’ll be doing the January–February shows for him in Paris.”

  “Congratulations!” Geo exclaimed, instantly jumped up, went around the table, and hugged M. “I’m very happy for you. You deserve this chance.”

  “Geo . . . there’s something I have to tell you. . . . I’ll be giving up my room in December. I’m going to be living in Paris . . .” M’s voice trailed off a little sadly, and she stared across the table at her landlady and friend, then sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

  “But it’s all right, honestly it is,” Geo assured her. “I’ll miss you, of course. But I have a feeling I’m going to be with James permanently, whether we marry or not, and I believe he’ll want to live here with me. Alone. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think I’m going to be a landlady anymore, not after you depart.”

  “But what about Annette?” M asked, a brow lifting.

  “She indicated she may be going to live in Rome, although she didn’t explain why. All I know is I’m glad she’s safe.”

  Changing the subject again, Geo now said, “Tell me, how has Larry taken the news?”

  “He’s happy for me. As pleased as punch, and he’s going to come with me to Paris,” M confided, without elaborating.

  Geo grinned at her. “Hey, I have a great idea! Why don’t you get married before you fly away to a new life in Paris? Isn’t that a fabulous thought?”

  “It is, yes, and I’ll consider it.”

  Geo had gone upstairs to look in on James, wondering aloud, as she left the kitchen, if he was still sleeping. And M sat at the kitchen table, finishing her mug of coffee, lost in her thoughts.

  Oddly, she was thinking about Annette Lazenby, whom she didn’t know at all, and discovered she was filled with relief that the journalist was going to move out and live in Rome. Annette had proved to be a worry to Geo in the long run, especially when her distraught mother had kept phoning in tearful desperation, begging Geo to help.

  “None of us are our sisters’ keepers,” M had pointed out to Geo recently, and Geo had quickly agreed. Nonetheless, Geo had been compassionate enough to want to help and had dragged James into the equation.

  M knew him, and her deepest instincts told her that he was a decent man with a conscience. Apparently he had been able to intervene. As a former agent with MI6, he obviously had a wealth of knowledge and contacts, and so he had done what he could. And he had made this effort because of Georgiana. M admired him for that; she was also happy that these two had found each other.

  As for Annette Lazenby, M decided she had behaved recklessly by going to Afghanistan when the country was in turmoil. But then that was what one did as an investigative journalist. M sighed, stood up, went out of the kitchen and down the corridor, and crossed Geo’s studio, making for the little garden at the back.

  Who am I to criticize her? she asked herself, sitting down in the metal chair on the patio. I have also been reckless; I threw myself into Laurence Vaughan’s arms, and he doesn’t know my real name; I’ve lied to him by omission without thinking anything through. I gave myself to him in every way, and I’m in love with a man who has many troubling issues with his family, which can only infringe on our relationship, yet he becomes embroiled with them at the drop of a hat.

  M was well aware that Larry lived in New York because he loved it, but she also realized he wanted to keep his daunting family at arm’s length. The problem was, Larry believed he was not as good as those of his siblings who were actors. Only Miranda, who was a set designer, did not come into play. M had found herself arguing with him just before he had gone off to Canada, pointing out somewhat forcefully that he was, in fact, better than they, even better than his father, who she thought had become a bit pretentious in his acting, even pompous. He was considered one of the great actor knights, Sir Nicholas Vaughan, knighted by the Queen and standing alongside Sir Anthony Hopkins, Sir Michael Caine, and Sir Sean Connery, to mention only a few of that illustrious circle, all of the same generation.

  Larry’s the best, she thought. No, he’s not the best, he’s better than the best. Only his mother ranks alongside him when it comes to talent. Why didn’t he see it? Why was he so vulnerable to them? So open to hurt?

  And he remained bloody loyal. Oh, God, who was she to talk? There was no one more loyal than she herself. She was totally loyal to her lot. . . . Come hell or high water, she would fight for them, die for them, if need be. And this despite anything they might have done to her, any pain they had caused, which was always unintentional. She was one of five, just as Larry was one of six. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the memories, but they would not go away.

  A slight wind suddenly blew up, ruffling through her hair, wafting across her face, and she opened her eyes, sat up, blinking in the brightness of the morning. It was a pretty day with a pale blue sky and golden sunshine; although it was already the end of October, it was more like September, not cold at all . . . an Indian summer kind of day. Immediately M thought of her mother, who basked in delight whenever it was a day like this, a summer’s day in autumn, that was the way her mother always put it.

  M saw her mother clearly in her head at the moment, and her father as well. And alongside were her two sisters and her brothers. Each of them sharply and precisely defined. She suddenly laughed out loud, thinking of their shock when she told them about Larry. Her siblings had teased her unmercifully when she was ten because of her crush on him after she had seen his memorable Hamlet. They would be shocked. No, not that, but certainly surprised, she decided and laughed again.

  In a sense she was sad she couldn’t confide in her sisters and her mother. Once she and Larry had been married, she would tell them before they found out some other way. That was the only fair thing to do. It was bound to leak, wasn’t it? Still, once
they were married, it wouldn’t matter that her family knew. Certainly they couldn’t give her a big wedding, which was a relief.

  M was sure they would like Larry and take him to their hearts. He was very engaging, and it was that which would impress them, not his fame, or his looks. Neither would matter to them. After all, they were all famous and good-looking themselves.

  She zeroed in on Larry, her mind racing. Where are you? Why aren’t you calling me? Are you avoiding me? What’s going on? She had no answers, and her frustration and disappointment spiraled into exasperation.

  And many months later, when she looked back, she realized that this was the day her troubles began.

  Twenty-two

  After she had showered, done her makeup, and dressed, M made a sudden decision. She would endeavor to reach Larry one more time, hoping to ascertain when he would be arriving in New York. Waiting to hear from him was becoming trying, and she was well aware that doing something positive would help to soothe her increasing nervousness.

  Sitting down in the armchair near her bed, she reached for the landline and dialed the hotel in Toronto. When the hotel operator answered, she asked for reception, and a moment later a friendly male voice was asking her how he could be of help.

  “This is Marie Marsden,” she announced in her most businesslike tone. “I’m Mr. Laurence Vaughan’s secretary, and I’ve been trying to reach him, but there’s no answer to his room. He was due to check out today, and I wish to know if he’s already done so.”

  “I believe he has, Miss Marsden. Just give me a moment to confirm that, will you?”

  “Thank you,” M replied, hoping that Larry had indeed left the hotel, and Canada, and was on a plane back to New York at this very moment, as he had planned.

  “Miss Marsden, he has checked out,” the clerk told her. “Do you wish to speak to Mr. Edward Vaughan? Or Sir Nicholas, perhaps?”

  “No, no, but thank you. Would you have any idea what time Mr. Vaughan checked out this morning?”

  “It was yesterday, actually, Miss Marsden. Mr. Vaughan checked out yesterday afternoon, according to our register.”

  “Oh. Thanks. Thank you very much.” She hung up without another word and sat back with a jolt, a stunned expression settling on her face. He was already in New York, no doubt at his apartment, and he hadn’t called her. Why? What was wrong? Didn’t he want to see her? Had the two weeks apart from her made him change his mind about her? Was he dumping her?

  All kinds of disquieting questions ran through her mind as she sat, baffled and staring into space, feelings of astonishment, hurt, and disappointment flooding through her. Surely he didn’t want to break it off? How could he, after all he’d said and done, the love he had shown her? And what about the sapphire ring from Harry Winston? A man didn’t give a woman an important ring like that and not mean what he said about loving her, wanting to marry her. At least a man like Larry didn’t, he was too serious-minded, and he was like her brothers . . . true blue. Right from the beginning of their relationship she had felt he was the type of man whose word was his bond. Dependable. Honorable. She sat, wondering what to do and then quickly made up her mind. Going to her clothes closet, she grabbed her black trench coat, picked up her battered red Kelly, and ran downstairs.

  Before leaving the house, she went to the kitchen, pushed open the door, and looked in. “Geo, I’ve got to go out for a while,” she said, striving to sound normal.

  “All right,” Geo answered, smiling warmly. “I’m sure we’ll be here when you get back.”

  James, who was sitting at the table with Geo, grinned and waved. “Good morning, M!”

  She waved back and pushed a big smile onto her face, murmured, “See you both later,” and was gone in an instant.

  Out on the street, she found a cab and got in, was immediately on her way uptown to Larry’s apartment. Settling back against the seat, she tried to relax and discovered she couldn’t shake her worry. The nearer they got to his place the worse it grew. She had a strange presentiment that there was something wrong, terribly wrong, and her chest was tight with anxiety.

  Both the doorman and the concierge greeted her pleasantly as she flew into the lobby and took the elevator up to Larry’s apartment. He had given her a key some weeks ago, and she used it to let herself in.

  The first thing M noticed was the suitcase on the floor of the entrance hall, and his trench coat thrown over a chair. Taking off her own coat, laying it on top of his, she looked in the living room and called his name. There was no answer. When she checked his bedroom and the kitchen and found no sign of him, she went back to the living room and walked through it, making for the library. Before she even reached the door, she heard muffled coughing; she pushed the door open a nanosecond later, found Larry stretched out on the sofa, and saw that he looked ghastly. He was unshaven, and his face was ashen; he wore his pajamas and a dressing gown and was clutching something against his chest.

  “Larry! Larry! Whatever’s the matter? Oh, my God, you’re ill!” she cried. “What’s wrong? What is it? Talk to me, Larry.” She dropped her handbag on the coffee table and knelt down next to him, took hold of his hand, discovered it was icy cold. Prying open his fingers, she found an empty plastic pill bottle without its top. On the label was Larry’s name, as well as the name of the Toronto pharmacy and a doctor. At the bottom it said “Vicodin,” and there was a small red label on which was printed a warning that this was a controlled substance and should be taken only as directed. “Vicodin,” she read again, frowning. Wasn’t that a form of codeine? She was sure it was, and that was a powerful drug, dangerous if misused, wasn’t it?

  Putting the bottle in her pocket, she felt Larry’s pulse, then pushed her hand inside his pajama top, placed it on his heart. She thought both his pulse and his heartbeat seemed normal. But he was totally out of it. He was drugged, she was certain of that.

  Leaning over him, she said, “It’s me, Larry.”

  He didn’t answer her, but after a moment his eyes half opened. Glazed, they weren’t focused on her, and in an instant the lids had drooped again.

  “Larry,” she cried, “try to answer me. Why have you taken the pills?”

  He didn’t open his eyes, but somehow he must have heard her, because eventually he mumbled something she couldn’t quite understand.

  “Why did you take the pills?” she repeated. “Do you have pain?”

  Slowly, making an effort, he brought his hand up to his mouth and again mumbled; still she didn’t understand what he was saying. Then it struck her that he might have said “tooth.” “Did you go to a dentist in Toronto? Did you have a painful tooth?” she demanded. “Is it still painful?”

  He was silent, but his hand remained against his mouth for a second before it fell weakly to his chest.

  Rising, M ran across to the desk and sat down, her first intention being to call her elder brother in London. She had frequently gone to him when she had problems to solve, and he had always helped her. She trusted him implicitly, and he was smart and worldly wise; he would tell her what to do. She began to dial his number, then stopped abruptly, put the receiver back in the cradle.

  She knew that when she explained the situation she was in, he would tell her to get out of the apartment at once. He would want her to protect herself at all costs.

  But she loved Larry and wanted to help him, so she couldn’t leave him alone. What if he died? He needed medical help. At once. But who could she get to assist her? She didn’t have many friends in New York, only Geo really.

  Then another name leapt into her mind. James Cardigan. He was a mature man, a former secret agent, head of his own international business, certainly experienced, worldly, and sophisticated. But if she asked him for help, would he keep her confidence?

  He will if you’re a client, that you can be sure of, a voice in her head told her. Hire him, pay him, and he will be obliged to keep your business confidential.

  She hesitated nonetheless, but when she saw that
Larry was now shivering excessively, as if chilled to the bone, she knew she must act with great swiftness.

  Taking a deep breath, she called Geo. It was James who answered with a cheerful “Hello?”

  “James, it’s me, M, and—”

  “Let me get Geo.”

  “No, no, I need to talk to you.”

  “You do?” he answered, sounding surprised, and laughing he added, “I thought it was my lady you were looking for, when I heard your—”

  “No, definitely you,” she cut in peremptorily and went on immediately. “I want to hire you, James. I need you to help me with something important, but I must work with you as a client and not as a friend.”

  “But we are friends,” he countered, sounding taken aback by her suggestion. “I can’t accept money for helping you out in some way, that’s silly.”

  “No, it isn’t, and yes, you can, and you will. Otherwise I’ll have to go, to someone else. And I don’t want to do that. I want you. Please, James, agree to this. Now. At once! It’s an emergency.”

  “All right, whatever you say. You certainly sound upset. What’s this about? Talk to me, M, go on, tell me everything.”

  “It’s about Larry. I came up to the Beekman Place apartment when I left Geo’s this morning, and he seems ill. He just got back from Canada last night, and I found him in a bit of . . . a mess. I’m pretty certain he’s had dental work done there, and he was obviously prescribed strong pills—”

  Cutting in, James asked in an urgent tone, “Do you know what they are?”