“The same,” Jessica replied. “You know doctors, they won’t tell me anything.”
“Can I visit him yet?” Jean asked.
Jessica shook her head. “He’s still in intensive care.”
“How much damage did the heart attack do?” Jean probed, blinking rapidly.
Jessica put an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “Try not to worry too much. Everything possible is being done for him. We just have to wait.” Deliberately changing the subject, Jessica inquired, “How is school?”
Jean shrugged. “School is school. Art class is the only thing that makes it bearable.” She tossed her blonde hair, several shades darker than Jessica’s, over her shoulder. “Mr. Danforth says that if I want to be a painter or a sculptor I have to do well in all my academic subjects too. Don’t you think that’s silly? I mean, what does the history of the French Revolution have to do with creating a work of art?”
“Mr. Danforth sounds very wise. Isn’t he the counselor you wrote me about, the one who’s arranging those New York interviews for you?”
Jean nodded eagerly, her disillusionment with social studies forgotten. “He thinks I have a good chance of getting into one of the schools, too.” Then her face darkened. “Of course I won’t be going anywhere if we don’t have the money to pay the tuition.” She turned her head to examine Jessica closely. “What happened with the mill, Jessica? Why are we in such trouble?”
Jessica sighed, defeated by the prospect of trying to explain something she barely understood herself. “Competition ruined the business during the past several years. Dad was just squeezed out as a result. That’s about all I can make of it. I know it wasn’t mismanagement. Dad was always a fanatic for keeping on top of things.” She deliberately left Jack out of the picture; Jean didn’t have to know those details.
Jean put her hands on her hips and surveyed Jessica critically. “But if what you’re saying is true, why is someone trying to take over the mill? Why would anyone want to take on the same kind of problems Dad’s been having?”
Why indeed? Jessica thought to herself. Unless that person had a particular score to settle.
“A competing company is looking to expand,” Jessica said as casually as possible, pushing open the swinging doors to the kitchen to allow Jean to follow her through them. “The owner is Jack Chabrol. He has a local trucking business.”
Jean halted and stared at her. “You mean that ex-football player?”
“Yes.”
Jean shook her head. “That’s weird. Does he want it for a tax write-off or something?”
No, he wants it to torment me, Jessica mused inwardly. “What do you know about tax write-offs?” she asked Jean teasingly as her sister went to the refrigerator and removed a bottle of milk.
“I took an accounting course last semester,” Jean announced importantly, looking around for a glass. “Do you think we’ll get to meet him?” she went on, pouring herself a drink. “Chabrol, I mean. Have you ever seen him? He’s a doll. Real tall, with great big shoulders and a killer smile. He gave a talk at the school last year. All the girls fell in love with him.”
“I saw him this morning,” Jessica answered, glad that Jean didn’t know anything about her previous involvement with Jack. “I knew him years ago when we were at school together,” she added, telling the bare truth without elaborating on it.
“Don’t you think he’s cute?” Jean asked ingenuously.
“He’s very attractive,” Jessica replied carefully. “He always was.”
“I don’t believe he isn’t married. You would have thought someone would snag him along the way. After all, he’s pretty old, almost thirty I think, and as rich as Midas. I heard he was engaged once, but broke it off. I can’t imagine why he came back here with all his money. I’d go to Malibu and buy a beach house.”
Jessica smiled at Jean’s teenaged fantasies. “Is that all you’re having for lunch? How about a sandwich?”
Jean shook her head. “I’m on a diet. So what do you think of the old place? Does the house look the same?”
“Very much the same,” Jessica replied quietly.
“Yeah, Dad would never let me change anything. He keeps all the stuff on ice. The maid comes in once a week and dusts the furniture like she’s cleaning a museum.” Jean broke off thoughtfully. “At least she used to. We had to let her go.” Her eyes sought Jessica’s.
“We’ll work it out,” Jessica said reassuringly. “It will all be over soon.”
Jean dropped her eyes and traced the wet pattern her glass left on the counter. “Maybe you’ll get along better with Dad now, too,” she murmured.
“Maybe.”
Jean looked up. “Jessica, what happened to cause the split between the two of you? He would never talk about it, and I didn’t want to upset you by bringing it up. I could tell it was real bad, even thinking about what it might have been used to scare me. I mean, all I know is that you left to get married when I was little, and ever since then you’ve been living abroad. The only time I saw you was when you brought me over there to visit. You never came here until now. Why?”
“When the time is right I’ll tell you,” Jessica answered softly.
“Do you promise?”
“I promise,” Jessica said, marveling that Jean still believed that such a vow meant something and would be kept. Well, she would keep it.
The telephone rang in the front hall, and Jean said, “Will you get that? I want to change my skirt before I go back to school.”
Jessica picked up the phone as Jean sprinted up the staircase to the second floor.
“Hello?” she said absently.
“This is Jack,” a masculine voice announced.
Jessica’s fingers tightened on the receiver.
“Yes?” she answered, with as much panache as she could muster.
“I’d like to get together to discuss the deal,” he said abruptly.
“What’s there to discuss? You’re taking over the mill and we both know why. Anyway, I thought we were meeting with Ransom again on Friday...”
He cut her short. “Without Ransom. Tonight.”
Jessica knew she should refuse, but the desire to be with him again was very strong. “I don’t know that we can settle anything,” she hedged. “We really need the final information Ransom was talking about before we can reach an agreement.”
“Afraid to see me without that old lion to protect you?” Jack asked softly, and she heard the unmistakable note of challenge in his voice.
“What time will you pick me up?” she said crisply, and she thought his tone was tinged with grudging amusement when he replied.
“At seven-thirty. Dress for dinner.”
Before she could say anything further, the line went dead. She stood looking at the framed picture of her mother on the piecrust table, aware that she had risen to Jack’s bait.
Surely this would be a mistake. She already knew that the only way to handle the situation was from a “strictly business” standpoint. Yet on the first day she was accepting an invitation that was anything but. She replaced the receiver quietly and shook her head at her own foolishness. It was no use. Jack’s lure had always been too powerful for her to resist.
Jean bounded down the stairs, asking, “Who was that on the phone?”
“Mr. Chabrol. I’m going out with him tonight.”
Jean’s mouth fell open. “You mean he asked you for a date?”
“I wouldn’t call it that. He wants to discuss the plans for the sale.”
“Like hell,” Jean said firmly. “He could do that in Mr. Ransom’s office. What are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t bring much with me.”
“Jessica, what is the matter with you? This guy is the town’s most eligible bachelor, not that we have many. You have to make the most of this opportunity. Go out and buy something slinky if you don’t have anything.”
“I’ll wear this,” Jessica said, pointing to her dress.
“I think a sequined cocktail dress is out, Jean. He’s probably taking me to Joe’s Diner.”
“Not him,” Jean said with conviction. “He goes in style.”
“Oh? How do you know?”
“He drives a Maserati and lives in that new high-rise complex near the falls. Joe’s Diner doesn’t exactly fit that scenario.”
“You seem to know a lot about him.”
“He’s the only interesting person around here,” Jean replied airily, picking up a stack of books. “I prefer keeping tabs on him to watching the paint peel.”
“Is he dating anyone?” Jessica asked, and then could have bitten her tongue off as a grin spread across Jean’s face.
“So you are interested,” she said triumphantly. “I knew it!”
“I merely asked a question,” Jessica said mildly, and Jean chuckled.
“You can’t fool me,” she sang.
“You probably don’t know if he is,” Jessica said quickly, trying to extricate herself.
“As a matter of fact, I do. I know at least one person that he was seeing. I saw a picture of them together in the newspaper.”
Jessica waited, and Jean began to study her nails with deep concentration. After several seconds she looked up, her expression the epitome of innocence.
“Oh, do you want me to tell you who it is?” she asked, batting her lashes.
“If you don’t mind,” Jessica replied in a tone of extreme forbearance.
“Daphne Lewis. Her father owns Lewis Plumbing and Heating. You must know her.”
Jessica certainly did. Daphne was a petite brunette firebrand, the same age as Jack. Jessica had known her in school.
“I’m surprised she isn’t married,” Jessica said softly, thinking out loud.
“Oh, she was. Several times. But she’s between engagements at the moment and has been making the rounds with Chabrol.”
“You’re a fountain of information,” Jessica said dryly.
“I try,” Jean replied, flicking imaginary dust off her lapel, and then glanced at her watch.
“Oh, gosh, I have to run. I’ll be late. I’ll see you back here this afternoon, okay? And take my advice. Go get something nice to wear. Don’t be a schlump, all right?”
She bolted out the door. Jessica, not wanting to be a schlump, decided to drive over to the mall in Arlington and shop for a new outfit. By the time she returned with her purchase, a violet silk shirtwaist that had cost too much but looked it, Jean had already come home and gone out again. Jessica found a note explaining that Jean was visiting a friend and telling her that a Madeline Giotti had called and would call again.
Jessica smiled slightly as she opened her package and hung the dress on a hanger. Maddy. How on earth had she found out that Jessica was back in town? She was married now, with a little boy, and lived in Greenfield, a suburb about twenty miles from Bright River. Jessica was looking forward to seeing her again.
The receipt was at the bottom of the bag, and Jessica stuck it in her purse without looking at it, hoping that the next time she saw it the figure would change. There was no way to justify the extravagance. She simply wanted to look good for Jack, and that was that.
The horror of the morning had receded, and she was determined now to mend her fences, to get on good terms with him again. She understood his motive for taking over the mill, but certainly she could make him see the light, deal with the situation in a mature, rational manner. They were both older now, adults with careers and a wealth of experience acquired since their abrupt parting. It had been a shock to see Jack unexpectedly and to relive the unhappy past, but she was recovering. She had to salvage their relationship in order to make the deal go smoothly, and she was determined to do it.
Her mood of optimism persisted as she got ready for Jack’s arrival. She called the hospital to check on her father and then showered in the blue tiled bathroom on the second floor. It seemed strange to dress and make up where she had prepared for her teenaged dates, worrying over hairstyles and breakouts, scattering an array of cosmetics and lotions on the vanity tray. The face staring back at her now was older, thinner, shorn of the innocence that had once graced it. She was pretty still, as Jack had said, but different in a way that defied description. She only knew she felt the difference, and carried it with her like a weight.
Jean returned a few minutes before Jack’s arrival and stationed herself in the entry hall. Jessica wanted to barricade her in her bedroom, but a request along those lines would have made Jean more suspicious than ever, so Jessica tolerated her pacing and peering through the curtains. They heard the low hum of a sports car simultaneously, and Jean pointed to the mantel clock, visible through the doorway to the living room.
“Right on time,” she whispered, and Jessica shot her a look.
When the bell rang Jean yanked open the door and greeted the new arrival effusively.
“How do you do? I’m Jean Portman, Jessica’s sister,” she said, beaming, and then her smile faded as Jack looked past her at Jessica, who was standing behind her.
One glance at his expression and Jessica knew that her high hopes for mutual understanding had been in vain. He nodded stiffly at Jean, saying, “Hello,” and then stepped around her to confront Jessica, who had to restrain herself from shrinking visibly at his approach.
Jean, baffled, looked at both of them and decided quickly that retreat was in order. “Well, I’ll say goodnight. I have some homework to do. See you later, Jessica.” She fled to the back of the house, doing an accurate impression of a shooed squirrel.
Jessica felt like joining her. She had several unformed, fleeting ideas about pleading a headache or some other infirmity. But then she decided to face Jack down, trying not to consider what delights the rest of the evening might bring. This was only the beginning, and he already looked like a thundercloud about to burst.
“I’m ready,” she said unnecessarily, as she was wearing her coat and clutching her purse.
“You look lovely,” he said flatly, and it didn’t sound like a compliment.
He was impeccably dressed, as he had been that morning. Tonight the suit was beige, with a cream shirt and brown silk club tie. He had a topcoat over his arm.
“Where are we going?” Jessica asked nervously.
“Mario’s,” he replied shortly.
“Is that place still in business?” A decade earlier it had been the most expensive restaurant in town.
“I had lunch there yesterday. As far as I know it didn’t burn down last night,” he answered.
Jessica glanced at him sharply. “I was just trying to make conversation,” she said.
“It’s not necessary to humor me,” he stated, meeting her eyes.
Jessica planted her feet. “Look, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Why don’t we wait for Friday, as I originally suggested?”
“I can disgrace your father, or not,” he said quietly. “The choice is up to you.”
Jessica stared back at him, speechless.
“I can arrange a sheriff’s sale of the house and furnishings, publish a bankruptcy notice in the papers, make sure everyone knows exactly what happened to the mill and who caused it,” he went on in the same flat, explanatory tone. “Or I can handle it differently. Your behavior will determine the decision I make.”
So there it was. She either went along with this, allowed him to toy with her like a cat playing with a ball of yarn, or he would make sure her father wound up publicly humiliated as well as penniless. Jack knew how much Portman’s good name meant to him. His status in the town was more precious to him than his money, and he had always liked his money quite a lot.
“I’ll go with you,” she whispered past the lump in her throat.
“Fine. Then I think I’d like a drink before we leave. Scotch, if you have it.” He walked ahead of her into
the living room, and she had no choice but to follow.
He dropped his coat on a chair as she went to the bar.
“Water?” she asked, as he looked around the room at the pictures, the family photographs her mother had framed and hung.
“Just rocks,” he replied.
Her fingers trembled as she fixed the drink, but she made sure they were steady before she handed it to him. Then she watched as he prowled the room like a powerful leashed animal, picking up objects and putting them down again, touching pieces of china and crystal as if they were living things. The subdued lighting glinted off his glossy dark hair and cast shadows along his cheekbones, making them seem more prominent. If anything, he was better looking than when she had last seen him, and Jessica felt her stomach muscles tighten.
“This room smells of money,” he finally said, turning his head to look at her. He took a large swallow of his drink.
“These things were all inherited. They may wind up on the block very shortly.”
“What a shame,” he murmured, and she couldn’t tell if he were being sarcastic or not.
“I think it is.”
“Some of this stuff is old. Looks like your father hung on to everything,” Jack observed softly.
“So far,” Jessica said pointedly.
“Just being back here makes me feel eighteen again,” he said quietly. “And poor.”
“Then why did you want to come back?” Jessica asked, bewildered.
“I guess to reassure myself that it wasn’t true any longer,” he answered, fingering a silver sconce on the wall. “You left me because I didn’t have any of this. Now I do, and you’re the one on the outside looking in.” He drank again and drained his glass.
It was a moment before Jessica found her voice. “Is it that important to hurt me?” she asked in a husky, unsteady tone.
His eyes flashed, and she saw the fires he kept so closely banked blaze brightly for a second. “You hurt me,” he replied simply.
“And that’s where we stand. An eye for an eye.”
He smiled slightly, enigmatically, and didn’t answer.
“I wish we could both let the past go,” Jessica said miserably, looking away from his pitiless, perfect features. “I wish we didn’t have to carry on with this charade.”
An Indecent Marriage Page 5
