“And you’re a remarkably shallow woman, Emily Alexander. Which is why we’re absolutely made for each other. Imagine turning your ancestral home into a golf course.” He was still laughing when he hung up.
Emily replaced the receiver, turned back to her computer, and typed “Jonathon, Downtown Diner, 5:30 pm” in the blank white square on the calendar, even though it was a totally unnecessary exercise. Drinks with Jonathon would last until eight. Then what? Would Jonathon invite her back to his place? She’d say yes of course. Sex with Jonathon would be the first step in exorcising Rain from her mind. She would blot out the memory of their night together by any means necessary.
She went through the calendar again and despaired at all the days there were to get through. The phone rang again, and Lee announced her investment portfolio manager was on the line. Emily took the call and killed the last hour of the day shuffling investments on the advice of the manager. After hanging up, she turned off the computer and grabbed her coat and umbrella from the closet. She gathered her notes from the morning staff meeting and tossed them into her briefcase along with the real estate section from the day’s Toronto Star newspaper – props for her date with Jonathon. She couldn’t imagine what they were going to talk about for two and half hours.
Usually Emily was the last to leave the office, but tonight Lee was still at her desk. “I’m meeting a girlfriend for dinner at six,” she explained. “Thought I’d just do a bit of catch-up until it’s time to meet her.” Emily wished her a good night and took the elevator down the twenty-one floors to the lobby. Except for the night security man on the desk, the lobby was empty. Everyone was getting a jumpstart on their weekends. Everyone except Emily, who planned to spend every weekend from here on in working. Don’t stop ‘til you drop. It was the only way to keep the bogeyman of memory away.
* * *
Upstairs, Lee finished printing off an invoice to one of their bigger clients. She put it in an envelope and sealed and stamped it. She placed it in her black leather bag next to the slip of paper Ray had given her before he’d left the office. On it he’d written his home phone number and the number of his publisher, handing it to her with a sigh. “I don’t know what you can do, but if you think of anything, here’s how to reach me. I don’t have a cell – I haven’t caught up with the twenty-first century yet.” Thinking that surely some of his appeal was that he didn’t seem part of this century, she’d taken it, wishing she could think of something encouraging to say. She’d lied when she told Emily she hadn’t been eavesdropping. She had. She hadn’t heard everything, but she’d heard enough to know that Ray’s case was hopeless. And she’d done her best to lobby on Ray’s behalf, but Emily had just changed the topic until it was Lee’s love life they were talking about. Typical Emily.
Lee was just putting on her coat when she heard the fax machine beep. Nothing that couldn’t wait until Monday, she thought, but pulled the fax out of the machine anyway. It was from Martin Wright, Barrister and Solicitor, and addressed to Emily. Lee knew it had something to do with Ray and, ignoring the fact that it was marked confidential, read it. A moment later she set it down on the desk and picked up the phone to cancel her dinner date.
This couldn’t wait until Monday.
She had to find Ray.
Chapter 9
Emily and Jonathon had been meeting at the Downtown Diner almost every Friday night for the past two years. Even if they had other “dates,” they still made this meeting. They used it to talk shop, discussing not only their joint business but also their own separate projects. They recapped on that week’s work and discussed the next week’s as well.
Emily handed her wet coat and umbrella to the manager and headed for their usual table in the window. The jazz pianist at the baby grand in the corner was playing a slow, lush rendition of I Loves You Porgy from Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess.
“Any requests tonight?” the pianist asked Emily as she passed the piano.
She paused and listened. It was such a haunting, sweet song. It seemed to Emily that it embodied romantic love, every chord mocking her own misery and cynicism. She shook her hair from her face as if shaking off the music’s hold on her and said, “How about The Lady is a Tramp?”
The pianist laughed and without so much as a pause launched into a glib, sprightly version of the Cole Porter standard. The dramatic transition in mood turned a few heads, but they quickly lost interest and returned to their drinks. Emily nodded her approval. This song was an appropriate accompaniment for her evening with Jonathon.
With its wood and leather interior and wealthy young clientele, the Downtown Diner couldn’t get further from the greasy-spoon implications of the word diner. To be seen here on a regular basis marked one as trendy, successful, one of the “beautiful people.” It may have been Friday, but in this success-motivated crowd, there was little deviation from the topic of business.
This was a bar that made a point of remembering what their clients liked to drink, and a martini (vodka, extra dry, straight-up, with a twist) arrived within moments of Emily taking her seat. She had just taken a sip of the strong drink when she heard a familiar French accent.
Renée was a real estate agent who specialized in renting out the mansions and condos of Toronto’s wealthiest to the many film stars who came to make movies. It was a lucrative business, and Renée was considered one of the best. While Jonathon had stressed Renée’s importance as a business contact, Emily suspected that his interest wasn’t only professional. Over six feet tall in her heels, which she always wore, she was stunning in a glamour magazine way, and Emily felt that she walked through the room as if all eyes were on her, as they often were.
Renée bent over and kissed Emily on both cheeks before holding her at arm’s length and observing her critically. Emily had the absurd thought that Renée was going to ask her if she’d washed behind her ears. “You’ve done something with your hair,” she said, wrinkling her perfect nose. “It’s very weekend-in-the-country.” She pulled herself up to her full height. “But that’s where you’ve been, isn’t it? Jonathon told me you had a little run-in with some environmentalists. It’s just as well you didn’t take them on. They can be bloody persistent and give you some very bad press, especially when they’re defending cute little furry animals like otters.”
Otters? Emily wondered. What kind of ridiculous story had Jonathon told this woman? No doubt this was a way for Jonathon to save face. It would have been too embarrassing for him to admit she had simply given the farm away and he had lost his deal.
Just then Jonathon appeared. “What are you two talking about?” Jonathon asked after he’d kissed both women on the cheek and taken a seat opposite Emily. A waiter placed a glass of white wine in front of him.
“Renée was just telling me about the otters and the environmentalists,” Emily said.
“Ah,” said Jonathon without missing a beat. “Then you told her it sorted itself out in the end.”
“No,” she said, taking a sip of a martini. She’d like to see Jonathon get out of this one. “I thought I’d leave that up to you. Tell Renée what happened, Jonathon.”
Emily could almost see the wheels turning in Jonathon’s head as he took a sip of his wine. He put his glass back on the table. “Well, it turns out there were no otters in the lake, only rats. Not the brightest bunch of environmentalists.”
It was the first time Emily had ever seen Renée at a loss for words. She looked puzzled for a moment. “Well, that’s good. All’s well that ends well. Enjoy your evening,” she said finally before rejoining her table.
“Good god, Jonathon,” said Emily as she watched Renée glide across the room. “You actually told her the farm deal wasn’t going through because of otters.”
He laughed. “A little white lie. But you didn’t have to put me on the spot like that.”
“You deserved it, you jerk,” she said, only half-joking.
“Hey, take it easy, I’m not looking for a barroom brawl. That’s yo
ur first drink, isn’t it?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to get drunk and embarrass you.”
“Good,” he said as Emily ordered a second drink from a passing waiter. On second thought, maybe she would get drunk. She felt miserable and out of place and was already sorry she’d suggested this meeting.
“I’m glad to see you remembered how to dress,” he said, scrutinizing her closely. “I’m not sure I like your hair though. It looks like you’ve been running for the bus or something.”
“Thanks. Whatever happened to simple compliments like: Wow, you look great!”
“Strictly pick-up lines. I’d be doing you a disservice if I wasn’t completely honest with you.”
“Then you expect me to be completely honest in return?” Emily knew Jonathon’s weakness for flattery.
There was a moment of hesitation before he answered. “Of course I do.”
Emily was suddenly possessed by the desire to throw her drink at him. She could already picture the look of shock distorting his controlled features while his expensive suit soaked up vodka. Yes, it would be fun to see Jonathon lose his cool in the middle of this restaurant full of people he liked to impress. Well, maybe not totally fun. She’d have to contend with his fury.
She studied Jonathon over her glass. She knew a lot of women found him attractive, but she wasn’t one of them. She’d seen too much of his nasty pettiness to be attracted to him. An image of Rain flashed through her head. Warm, loving. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to remember that it was all a lie. In the end, he was worse than Jonathon, who at least was an honest jerk….
“Well? Are you going to be honest?” Jonathon asked.
“You know you’re perfect,” she said distractedly.
“You’re getting a little slow. I expected something wittier.” The waiter placed Emily's new drink on the table. “I’ve got an idea. Since you’re so bent on getting drunk, how about we go to my place? I’ll make a pitcher full of martinis, and we’ll drink it the hot tub. And then when you’re good and drunk, we’ll have sex on the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace. Only I don’t have a bearskin, so we’ll have to improvise.”
A wave of revulsion washed over Emily. How was she ever going to go through with this?
“What about your client? Isn’t he coming?” she asked. She didn’t want to picture herself with Jonathon on a bearskin rug or anywhere else. Maybe she'd claim to have a headache.
“No. Just my lawyer. He’s got the agreement between you and me to sign, which makes us partners in this venture, and the offer from the client, which includes shares in the resort and of course a membership.”
“You worked this out pretty quickly.”
“I never stopped working on it. I knew you’d come to see the light.”
“Then why tell Renée the otter story?”
“Ah, we all have our low points. Even me.”
The waiter placed two more drinks on the table and removed their empty glasses. Emily immediately took a sip. In half an hour it would all be over. Rain would have to be out in a month. What would happen to the cabin? Would they tear it down? With a flash of how much pain this would cause Rain, Emily tried to feel good about what she was doing. She took another sip and forced herself to think of what he had done. He killed your mother, she told herself firmly. You’ll never forgive him for that. He doesn’t deserve the farm. This will be justice for what he did to you and your mother. This was closure. This is what she wanted.
Then why did she feel so awful? She flipped open her cell to check for messages, but there was no rescue there, and so she turned it off and put it back in her purse.
* * *
The fax still in hand, Lee phoned Rain’s home number. The answering machine picked up after the third ring. She tried again and got the answering machine a second time. Of course he wouldn’t be there – he hadn’t had time to get home if that was where he was even headed. Next she tried the publisher’s number. Again she got voicemail. Damn. If only he had a cell. She couldn’t help but think this would be the moment for him to catch up with the twenty-first century.
Well, if Rain couldn’t be found, she’d just have to do it herself. She’d personally take the fax to Emily. She knew where to find her, feeling suddenly fully justified in having eavesdropped on that conversation as well. She couldn’t let Emily sign that contract! She tried Emily’s cell, but it immediately went to voicemail. Oh well, it was better she went in person anyway. That way, Emily couldn’t hang up on her. Quickly she turned out the office lights and, with the fax in her bag, locked the office behind her.
She stood on the curb of the street, looking at the traffic in dismay. It was now at a complete standstill. Horns honked, but nothing moved. Lee could see the flash of an ambulance light about a block away and assumed an accident had added to the usual chaos. There was no point in hailing a cab, and it was too far to walk if she was going to get there in time. In the end, she crossed the street and walked the block to Yonge Street and the entrance to the subway system. It too was packed, but she pushed her way onto the first train, rode the three stops to Bloor Street, and pushed her way out again, emerging onto the street, feeling grumpy and dishevelled. She glanced at her watch. It was after six already. What if she was too late? Emily would never forgive herself.
* * *
Emily stood up and shook the lawyer’s hand, while Jonathon signalled the waiter for another round of drinks. Emily could see that the lawyer was anxious to get on with his own Friday night. His name was Jack Berry, and Emily had been to parties at his mansion in Toronto’s exclusive Forest Hill. He had the papers out on the table before the waiter was back with his drink. “Very little has changed since we spoke in my office a couple of weeks ago. At that time, I faxed you both the contracts, and we discussed changes. Those have been made, and Jonathon has approved them already.”
Emily hardly heard a word of what the lawyer was saying. He was talking figures now. Big ones. She was about to become a very wealthy woman. A few weeks ago she had been excited by this prospect. Then it had meant that she’d made it. That despite her humble beginnings, she had made her way in the world. She saw it as justice too, for what had happened to her mother. But all she could see was a hotel where a log cabin now stood, rolling golf greens where there were now fields, clumps of well-manicured trees where there were now woods. There was no point in rebuilding the barn. It would soon be an asphalt parking lot.
And she saw the face of her mother in the photograph she found at the farm, now tucked away in a drawer in her condo. Why couldn’t she look at the picture? Was it because she knew somewhere deep in her heart her mother wouldn’t want this. In that photo her mother had been smiling. I have no regrets, she seemed to hear her mother say. Her mother may have died on that farm, but she had loved it.
Above all, she saw Rain. He was leaning against a tree and looking out over the lake. He was telling her the story of her great-great-great-great grandmother, another Emily Alexander, his eyes and voice full of love. Love of history, love of the land, and yes, love for her, Emily.
“So are you ready to sign?” Jonathon’s voice interrupted her thoughts. He held a pen toward her, and she took it, nodding numbly. With one stroke of the pen it would all be over.
“There are several documents as well as several copies,” the lawyer said as he set the pile of documents in front of Jonathon. “Jonathon, if you could just pass each one on to Emily after you sign, we should get through them quickly and efficiently.”
Emily watched numbly as Jonathon signed the top sheet of paper. He picked it up off the pile and placed it in front of her. She looked at the line on the page in front of her. There was no going back. She had made up her mind. She lifted her pen to sign.
Suddenly, someone called out her name. Startled, Emily looked up and scanned the bar for the caller. It was Lee. She was practically running through the bar, waving a paper in front of her. Emily stood up. “What’s wrong?” she asked, shaken out o
f her numbness.
“You haven’t signed anything yet, have you?” she said, pulling Emily away from the table.
The lawyer looked at Jonathon in bewilderment. “What the...?”
Jonathon jumped from his chair and made a grab at the papers in Lee’s hand.
“It’s not for you,” said Lee sternly before turning back to Emily. “Please, just one moment. You’ve got to look at this.”
Jonathon put a restraining hand on Emily’s shoulder, but she shook it off roughly. “Sit down, Jonathon, I’ll be right back.” She led Lee away from the table to the bar. She looked behind her and saw that Jonathon was sitting at the table, his head in his hands. Did he know what this was about? She looked around the bar and saw several pairs of eyes look away quickly. They were definitely drawing attention.
Lee was still out of breath. “This came just as I was leaving the office,” she said, holding out the now rumpled pieces of paper. “I think you’d better take a look at it.”
Emily shook her head and took the papers from Lee. She put them on the bar and ran her hand over them to smooth them out. She read them once and then read them again before folding them and placing them in her shoulder bag. She kept her voice very steady when she spoke. “Lee, I left my briefcase at the table. Would you please get it and take it into the office with you on Monday?” Lee nodded. “And while you’re over there, could you please tell Jonathon and his buddy that the deal is off?” She looked over at the table where the two men waited and wondered how they were going to react. “Thanks, Lee,” she added softly. She wanted to say more, but she didn’t think she’d ever find the words to express what she felt. They would have to come later.
“Go on,” Lee said encouragingly. “I’ll cover for you.” And as Lee went over to where the two men waited, Emily walked out the door.
Falling for Rain Page 16
