Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5)

by Shirley Hailstock

  Michael watched her closely. Erika withstood his scrutiny. She wasn't the same as she'd been in the mountains. Last night when he found her in the hall, she wore a peach nightgown. Today her appearance was all corporate — navy blue suit, white blouse, low heeled shoes. She wondered if he preferred her in the sweater and pants she'd left the cabin wearing.

  "I went through Carlton's things." She swallowed. "Most of his clothes have been sent away. He left some of his jewelry, gold watches and rings, to the servants, but there is a box of things you might want to go through when you have time."

  "How do you propose we begin this year of sharing?" Michael changed the subject. She felt distress and wondered if he could see the change in her.

  Erika took the seat behind her desk. "We are in need of a corporate counsel and—"

  "No," he interrupted too quickly and too loudly. "I'd prefer something else," he said in a lower voice.

  "If you want to learn the business, it might be a good idea if you visited one or two of the plants, to see how the process begins."

  Michael nodded. Erika felt relieved. It would take him out of town for a while.

  "How about I do that later? Initially, I suppose I could just find my way around here. You could explain what you do, and maybe I can help carry some of the burden."

  Her relief quickly turned to dread. At first she thought he agreed with her that traveling would help him learn, but it appeared it wasn’t planning to leave her alone.

  "Of course," she said. "We can begin tomorrow morning."

  "What's wrong with today?" He checked his watch. "It's nearly lunchtime. How about directly after lunch?"

  Erika hesitated, then nodded her agreement. "Where shall we eat?"

  "I'm afraid I already have a luncheon engagement," he told her.

  To Michael's retreating back, Erika's mouth dropped open.

  ***

  The day had been exhausting. After Erika returned from lunch, a product planning meeting in which the discussion revolved around a competitive product that would carve into their hard-won market share, Michael had stuck as close as her shadow. She'd pulled up reports on her computer screen and shown him how to access data from the system. She'd explained their product lines, profit margins, and sources of information. Erika explained the rules to him and told him he had the right to request reports or gather information from any of the data sources in the company.

  They'd returned to the mansion in the same car and she was now in her room, feeling the first sense of relief she'd felt in twenty-four hours. She showered and stood before her closet dressed in a terry cloth robe.

  She'd been standing there for ten minutes, trying to decide what to wear to dinner, when it occurred to her she was trying to pick something that would impress Michael. What was wrong with her? She shouldn't care what he thought of her clothes. Closing her eyes, she reached inside the closet. Her hand came to rest on a black dress. She frowned when she saw it, then shrugged and began dressing. The dress clung to every curve she had and the bodice seemed a bit low, showing off her small breasted cleavage. Hooking a three-strand pearl choker around her neck and applying drop earrings to her ears, she stepped into her three-inch heels and left the bedroom.

  Erika entered the salon where she'd always met Carlton before dinner. Michael had not come down yet and for a few minutes she had the room to herself. The grey September day had fallen into a dark night that reflected her appearance through the long windows lacing the courtyard at the back of the house. Across the stone patio the yard was ringed by a low brick wall that had made Erika feel safe when she was small.

  She didn't feel safe now. In fact, since Michael's unexpected arrival she'd felt trapped—trapped in space that was her domain, places where she should have the advantage. Somehow he seemed to have taken it.

  Leaving the window she went to the bar and poured herself a glass of wine, something she rarely did. Tonight she needed to relax. Except for the brief period at Perms Landing, while Michael attended his luncheon engagement, he had been her constant companion. She had to get through dinner and the evening with him in the house. It was strange, she thought, that all the while she lived here with Carlton and the staff she'd never felt the presence of anyone as much as she felt Michael's.

  Lifting the glass, she sipped the chilled liquid. It was smooth, and warmed her as it went down. The door opened behind her and she turned. Michael stood there dressed in a black suit and a white shirt that contrasted with his skin, making him look like some handsome movie star. She was no teenage groupie, but at that moment she prayed her knees would hold her up, for she wanted to melt to the floor.

  Finding her voice she said, "I should have told you. We don't dress for dinner."

  He gave her the once over before speaking. "I didn't," he said, advancing into the room. When he stood only a step from her he replied, "We were so busy this afternoon I forgot to tell you I wouldn't be here for dinner."

  "You have a date?"

  "Yes," he nodded, flashing her a smile. Something as sharp as an arrow pierced her heart and Erika fought to keep her expression noncommittal. She should be relieved. Only a moment ago she'd been telling herself she had to get through dinner and the evening with him. Why was she disappointed that the problem had been resolved?

  “For someone who’s been alone on a mountain for a year, you’re very well connected.”

  His brows rose and his mouth curved into a suggestive smiled. “Is that jealousy I hear?”

  “Of course not.” She thought of going on, but decided to say as little as possible. He had a great smile and Erika was learning he could turn it on and off like a light switch.

  "I see you're going out, too." Michael's glance covered her from head to foot. Then he moved around the bar and poured a glass of mineral water.

  Erika looked down at her dress. "No," she told him. "I have no plans for the evening other than some reading."

  "Then can I assume that lovely little number is for my benefit?" He raised an eyebrow. Erika felt the blood heat her face and ears. "You're a lawyer, Michael. I'm sure you know what assume means."

  Immediately she regretted her words. The playfulness he was having at her expense was suddenly gone. She watched the friendliness in his eyes disappear, replaced by something she thought must hurt him deeply. She wondered what it was, and why the mention of the word "lawyer" had changed him. This morning, when she suggested he take over the legal counsel position, he'd flatly refused.

  "I apologize," she said.

  "For what?"

  "I don't know."

  Her answer, though a statement, was an open question for him to answer, but he didn't, and his stance which a moment ago had been sexy told her he wasn't going to.

  "You're quite comfortable at Graves Enterprises?" Again he changed the subject.

  She nodded. "I am."

  "Rumor has it you've been there since you were a kid."

  "I was sixteen and—"

  "And what?"

  "Afraid, like most sixteen year olds, I suppose."

  Michael didn't believe her. Erika could see it in his glance before he raised his glass and drank the wine. She'd been about to say something else when she caught herself.

  "You said you met Carlton when you were very young."

  "Eight," she answered, her gaze level on him as if she were suspicious of his motives.

  "How did you come to live here?"

  "My mother gave me up for adoption and Carlton adopted me."

  "When you were eight? That’s highly unusual unless you were being abused and the courts stepped in and removed you. Usually when that happens the child tends to get lost in the foster care system, which changes them for life—and for the worse.”

  “It didn’t happen that way for me.” It was only a partial lie, but she delivered it with a steady voice. Some people were good at hiding bruises, but invariably they were revealed in some way.

  "Your mother is still alive?"

  “
You know your changes of subject give me whiplash.”

  “Occupational hazard.”

  He made no apology. It was, however, the first time he’d mentioned his life as a lawyer without lacing it with sarcasm or disdain, even if it was an indirect association.

  “So, is your mother still alive?”

  "Yes." Erika's voice was as dry as a desert. "She is."

  "She gave you up when you were eight?"

  "I was fourteen, and can we stop with the Twenty Questions?" Erika turned away, going to the windows and staring out into the darkness. Her life hadn’t been all sunshine and roses, but she had dealt with it. She didn’t understand her mother and would probably never understand her. However, Erika knew that once she became an adult, it was up to her to make the decisions that either made her a blame-it-on-someone-else person or one who took control of her life and her future. She’d chosen the latter.

  She hated being reminded of those days. They were her past and she couldn’t change that, but she didn’t need to and wouldn’t allow it to rule her life.

  ***

  "Now it's my turn to apologize." Michael put his drink on the bar and went to stand next to her. He felt like putting his arms around her. He wanted to hold her, take away whatever demons plagued her, but every line of her body was coiled tightly, ready to attack at his first move. "I didn't mean to pry."

  Michael didn’t understand these longings he had for Erika. He wanted her close and yet he pushed back. But he knew things about her. He had demons that took the form of nightmares. They interrupted his life, sent him to the mountains, away from people. What had Erika’s done to her? She had a wall around her, encasing her feelings, holding them inside where they couldn’t be touched and couldn’t be unlocked. They were a pair, he thought. What had Carlton Lipton-Graves known about her and about him that he decided to bring two broken souls together? Were they supposed to fix each other in the next twelve months? Michael didn’t know, but he felt as if the two of them were poised on a precipice that could either have them soaring to the sky or falling into the abyss.

  Erika lifted her head and stared at him. Her eyes were enormous but dry. Her eyelashes were dark and long enough to be false. But from Michael’s nearness to her, he could see they were real. They swept down and up like window blinds, concealing and revealing. Somehow Michael thought she never let anyone see anything vulnerable about her. She was a tower of strength to the world, but he knew from first-hand experience that those kind of people hurt deeply in the confines of privacy. He didn't like to think of Erika hurting.

  "You'd better leave," she said, interrupting his thoughts as she checked her watch. "You wouldn't want to keep the lady waiting."

  Michael didn't move. There was that impulsiveness again— the action that had made him kiss her good-bye at the cabin, and the one now that nearly had his hands moving to take her in his arms. He lifted one hand and touched her arm. "Good night," he said with a gentle squeeze. "Enjoy your evening." With that he left.

  As the cold, wintry air hit him Michael tried to tell himself Erika St. James was not his problem. The two of them had a one year agreement. After that they were both free to do what they would. His intention was to sign over Graves Enterprises to her, take his share of the settlement and walk away. He would return to his mountain or go to Timbuktu, but whatever his decision, it had nothing to do with the tall, tan, leggy woman inside.

  ***

  Her heels clicked hollowly in the cavernous foyer as Erika closed the door and walked across the gleaming black and white tile. She thought she'd heard someone knock. Had Michael already forgotten the set of keys he'd been given? No one was there when she opened the door. Since Carlton died, there seemed to be a steady stream of people coming and going. By now she thought they would have gone on with their lives and forgotten about him, but she found that Carlton had more friends than she remembered. Tonight she wished at least one of them had dropped by. Her lonely dinner gave her time to think about Michael and who he might be having dinner with. How could he have a date so soon? He'd been here less than twenty-four hours, and already there were women on his trail.

  Ripping her attention from Michael, Erika thought over her position in this house. Rarely had she ever thought about it. She'd come here first as an intruder, then as a friend. It was her refuge, her haven of sanity when her mother flew into her rages. Eventually, she'd clashed with her mother and run away so much that the judge allowed her to stay with Carlton permanently, visiting her mother on holidays for short periods of time. Carlton had insisted that she keep some association with Alva Redford. He said family was important, and when you lost family you could never replace them. She wondered about that now that she knew about Michael. Carlton had not done what he'd forced her to do.

  People treated her as if she were a grieving granddaughter. She felt like a granddaughter, but she wasn't one. Carlton had a grandson. What had happened to keep them apart? Why did Michael not know about Carlton? Why had Carlton never mentioned Michael?

  Erika slipped into the living room. The coffee service was there and hot. She poured a cup and went to the sofa. Slipping out of her shoes, she curled her feet under her and settled into a comfortable position.

  Her mother's house had been gloomy, not dark, but unfriendly. Here there had been no fighting and arguing, no screaming. She sipped the hot liquid, remembering her childhood. Carlton had helped her with her homework, and come to see her in school plays and assembly programs, programs she hadn't even mentioned to her mother. He was always there to talk to her, never too busy or too tired to take an interest in anything she had to say. Now he was gone.

  Erika's heart felt tight in her chest. She'd forgotten the deep sense of loss that accompanied death. Balancing the cup on the edge of the sofa, she hugged herself as she shivered in the warm room.

  Carlton had been her sanctuary when she was a child and when she needed to come home after Bill deserted her. No, she wouldn't remember, not tonight. She stared into the large fire burning in the huge grate.

  She needed a vacation—an escape. This just wasn't the time. There was too much to do at work. She had a meeting scheduled with Jeff Rivers tomorrow and she expected it to last most of the day. Even though she'd been at Graves Enterprises permanently for the past year, Carlton's death had left morale low, and people feeling uneasy about a possible restructure. With Michael's arrival and a possible takeover looming, things would invariably get worse before they got better, and she couldn't leave in the middle of that. She needed to be there to show them they had no reason to feel nervous. Carlton was a visionary. She'd learned much in the past year about the pharmaceutical industry. She also had her past experience and the firsthand experience of working at Graves Enterprises. She planned to keep on the same track Carlton had begun. They were releasing a new product and they had a healthy pipeline. With the steady growth of market share in several divisions, they were sitting comfortably. She hadn't discussed conditions with Michael, but she could see no reason why he'd disagree with her.

  Michael, she thought. Who was he with? He'd only kissed her, she told herself. He hadn't asked her to have his children. Maybe the way he kissed her good-bye was the way he said good-bye to every unattached female who slept on his sofa.

  Erika smiled. Thoughts of him warmed her. Involuntarily her hand went to her mouth.

  She lifted her cup from the sofa arm. The liquid was cold now. She got up and placed it on the silver tray. Reaching down, she lifted her shoes and headed barefoot for the staircase and her bedroom on the second floor. Before she reached it the doorbell rang. Instinctively, Erika checked the time on the grandfather clock.

  Maybe she'd been right before, and Michael had forgotten his keys. If it was him, his date was rather short. She smiled at the thought that he might have not enjoyed himself.

  Erika changed direction and started for the door. One of the maids came through the kitchen and met her in the hall. Erika signaled she'd answer it, and the woman left
. With her shoes dangling from her fingers Erika went through the foyer. The heavy, carved wooden door had a beveled glass window in the top portion. Through the clear facets Erika saw the last person on earth she expected to find. Hesitating for a moment, she drew in her breath and pulled the door open.

  "Mother!"

  ***

  Alva St. James Redford stood under the portico, her body wrapped in mink, her red Mercedes sport coupe behind her. The light flatteringly bathed her skin tones. Erika's surprise at finding herself face-to-face with her mother took her power of speech.

  "I never expected to cross this threshold again," Alva said, pushing past her daughter and entering the foyer. She turned back to Erika, her stance as dramatic as that of an actress from the old black and white movies. Gloria Swanson, with long black hair and a mole on her chin, came to mind. Alva pulled her mink coat closer around her as if the room were cold, instead of comfortably warm for this time of year.

  "What brings you here?" Erika asked as she closed the door and started for the living room.

  Alva paused at the entrance to the high-ceilinged room full of tall, draped windows. The facing sofas shared a beige and rose color scheme and sat on a carpet that picked up the rose color. Erika watched her mother take in the room as if looking for something. After a moment she slipped out of the coat and dropped it on a chair by the door. Advancing, she came toward her daughter.

  "Is there something I can get you to drink—coffee, a soft drink?" Erika wouldn't willingly offer her mother alcohol. She remembered all too well her moods after she'd bent her elbow on one too many scotches. Testing the heat on the silver coffee pot with her hand, she found it cool enough to hold onto for long moments. "This is cold, but I can make a fresh pot."