“That's not the issue anymore, Ida. I’m not talking about disliking Bess. I’m talking about not being able to trust her.”
“Ah...” This time Ida wasn’t being provocative or looking for answers. Even from a distance, Bess could feel the ice in that single word. “So what you’re trying to tell me, Geoffrey, is that you like her just fine but you can’t believe her. Is that about it?”
“Damn it, Ida! Will you quit with the when did you stop beating your wife questions?”
“Sure. Just as soon as you quit being such a dickhead. By the way, did Colorado happen to tell you what Tom Rossiter was doing here in the first place?”
There was a marginal silence, followed by Geoff’s, “I didn't ask her. Why the hell would I?”
“I haven’t the faintest bloody idea, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be because you actually wanted to know something factual for a change. Just as well you didn’t ask, because she couldn’t have told you. Not wouldn’t, darling, couldn’t. Because she bloody well didn’t know. But I do. Now, would you like to know, or would it strain your puny male brain to try and absorb something accurate, something that isn’t tied to your damn ego?”
“Ida, if you were a man...”
“If I were a man, you’d listen to me. At the moment I think I’m closer to being a real man than you are. At least I don’t go about harassing an innocent girl, just because I can’t see past my own overblown ego. Shut up and listen, or I’m going to walk out of here and let you wallow in your own shit. Do you hear me? You’d better, because in case you hadn’t noticed, darling, I am starting to get very, very angry.”
Geoff’s reply was too low for Bess to catch, but Ida showed no such reticence.
“Tom Rossiter was sent here to find Cornwall’s daughter and to take her back to New York with him, hog-tied if necessary. To take any steps that were needed, so long as they worked. Kidnapping, dope, a trip back roundabout through the Arab Emirates or the South Pole, just so long as he got her back undamaged and in one piece.”
“Don’t be stupid, Ida. Where’s the logic in that? All Cornwall would have had to do is pick up a phone and she’d—”
“What? Run like a rabbit? Which is what she did when she left Colorado to come here? It might be bruising to your inflated ego, darling, but at least half the reason she came to Australia is because her father was trying to force her to go back to New York. Where she did not want to go! So she came to you, instead, poor innocent cow!”
“But why? There isn’t a skerrick of sense in that.”
Had Bess imagined it, or was there a subtle softening in his voice? Maybe even a hint of genuine doubt?
“Rossiter doesn’t know all the details,” Ida said. “Something about Cornwall wanting to line Bess up with some Pommy bastard as the bait in a corporate deal. Rossiter says Cornwall has lost it, gone halfway round the twist.”
“Maybe Rossiter won’t tell you all the details. Did you ever think of that?”
“Trust me, darling. Rossiter would have told me.”
Ida's voice had changed in timbre. Geoff might not have noticed it, but Bess certainly did, even through her throbbing headache. Any woman would.
“Speaking of which,” Ida continued.
And suddenly the voice belonged to a different Ida, this one smooth as silk, seductive as money, the words after “which” so soft Bess couldn’t hear a single one, not that she needed to. The message was in ten-foot-tall letters.
“Damn it,” Geoff protested. “Stop that!”
“But why, darling? Afraid Bess’ll hear us? I thought you said she’d gone to bed with a migraine?”
Ida's voice purred like a tiger facing a tethered goat. Bess could imagine the blonde licking her lips, tongue slicking through the contours of her smile.
“Bloody hell, Ida, quit it!” Geoff didn't shout, but Bess heard every word.
“That was a test, darling, and you just failed,” Ida said. “You don't want to root me, not that I would have let you. So how long have you been rooting your little Yank?”
His answer was barely audible, totally incomprehensible to Bess, but apparently clear enough to Ida.
“You bastard,” she said. “You rotten, stinking drongo! Colorado's father treated her like some sort of corporate call girl. She married one of his flunkies – and a nasty piece of work he was, according to Rossiter – who didn’t turn out well enough for the old man’s plans, so they framed him and he ended up shooting himself right in front of her. You didn’t know that either, did you, Mr. holier-than-thou Geoffrey bloody Barrett? And when her father tries to start the same game all over again, she does a runner, here, to you, somebody she thinks of as a colleague, maybe a friend. And what do you do? You know damn well what you did, you right royal twit. You rooted her…which hardly surprises me…and then treated her like bloody shit. Just like her bloody father! God save me; you both want bloody shooting.”
Thanks to the clatter of high heels, Bess could follow Ida's progress all the way to the door. It wasn’t until she heard the door slam with an intensity that reverberated throughout the house, that Bess realized her own position and laboriously made her way over and into the bed. She even managed to shut her eyes, just before she felt Geoff ease open the bedroom door and peer in at her.
“Bess?”
His voice was a whisper. She could ignore it, and did, forcing herself to breathe evenly, to pretend sleep, to control her trembling. Until he turned and left, softly closing the door behind him.
Whereupon, Bess remembered something she'd heard a long time ago. Maybe her father had said it. Maybe Mouse.
When remedies do not match your problem, you modify the problem, not the remedies.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Some miracle had destroyed her migraine, was Bess's first thought upon awakening. The morning sun streamed through her window and her mind was crystal-clear.
Even better, she found after a long shower that Geoff had gone somewhere and taken Lady with him. Just as well, she thought. It would be a shame to ruin the day with another confrontation, and she knew she'd crack him over the head with his electric jug before she'd endure his caustic contempt again.
She savored her make-shift breakfast of left-over pizza and coffee, then went into the office and searched through Geoff’s telephone index until she found the number she wanted. Then she waited with growing impatience until a familiar voice answered.
“Ida? It’s Bess. I need to talk to Tom Rossiter, in person. Do you think he’s recovered enough?”
“Is Geoffrey there?”
“No. No, he’s... well, I don’t know where he is. Dog training, maybe, since Lady’s missing as well. Geoff was gone when I awoke, and there’s no note or anything.”
“Fine. I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes. And if Geoffrey does happen to come home before I get there, wander down the street a few houses and wait for me. I don’t want to waste my time trying to ram some sense up that man’s...nose.”
Tom Rossiter looked, if possible, ten times worse. His face was horribly swollen and his bruises were a sickly, blue-green-yellow combination. What it must look like along his ribs, chest and back, Bess could only imagine, but it wasn’t a comforting thought. His huge hands, resting outside the bed sheets and an incongruously feminine pink comforter, showed new scars over the old ones.
“Tom, I have to thank you,” Bess said.
“Not necessary, Elizabeth. I’m just sorry I didn’t twig to Gerry Coolidge earlier. It might have saved us both a lot of problems.”
Twig? Bess allowed a tiny grin to stretch her lips as she glanced at Ida then focused on Tom again.
He winced after shifting position too quickly, and seemed to overhang the ends of Ida's distinctly feminine bed. In fact, the whole room was a tribute to the adage: What are little girls made of? While there was no sugar in sight, spicy potpourri scented the room, and everything nice imaginable…from lace to ruffles to peacock feathers…served as decoration. Ida's bedroom was an inte
rior designer's fondest dream. Or worst nightmare.
“A thank-you is necessary,” Bess insisted. “You know as well as I do what you saved me from, but I think you also know a lot of other things about what’s been happening. I would wait until you're up, but—”
“He’s already up,” Ida interrupted, flashing Bess an enigmatic smile that could have meant anything. “He just isn’t out of bed yet.”
“Enough, woman.” Rossiter’s voice subtly changed tempo as he looked toward Ida. “I think Elizabeth and I need to talk privately, so perhaps you’d go make us some coffee.”
“But Rossiter, the doctor said you were to avoid stimulants.”
“Yeah, well, if you forget about the coffee when you see him, I won’t tell him about any other stimulants. Okay?” He grinned a typical Rossiter grin, as rumpled as his suits. “Now be a good little girl and do what you’re told, for a change.”
Bess stood there in astonishment as the blonde meekly nodded and left the room. Who was this Ida? Certainly not the virago who had nearly wiped the floor with Geoff yesterday.
Tom wanted to start at the beginning, and Bess sat through his recitation in silence, letting him piece together what he knew with what he suspected as he recounted his journey from New York to Colorado, back to New York, then to California and Tasmania. He told her about her father’s irrational rages, and about the apparent – and, in Tom's opinion – illogical arrangement Cornwall had made with the Englishman. Tom told her all he knew about his own instructions and trek in search of her, then, finally, the Coolidge deal.
“For which I apologize, Elizabeth. I didn’t realize that Gerry is nearly as far off the rails as your old man, and I certainly didn’t believe he’d allow his thugs to do what they tried to do to you. Especially since I’d warned him, more than once.”
“So, in a way, Geoff was right. Coolidge was using me as a lever, on my father’s orders, to force Geoff to put all that stock on the market.”
“I honestly don’t think it was on your father’s orders, honey, which isn’t to say he wouldn’t have given that order. He would have, no question about it. But I’m fairly certain Gerry never told your father he even knew you were here. The name of the game was to use you for his scam first, blackmail Bartlett, then kidnap you again so I could take you back to New York. I don’t know what else to say, Elizabeth, because I was just as guilty as Gerry.”
“No, you weren't. Not really.” Bess was granted a welcome respite when Ida returned to serve them coffee, and she took that time to think. Then she invited Ida to stay and hear the rest. “Tell me about Paul, Tom. All of it, because I need to know all of it.”
Rossiter blanched and shook his huge head, but managed to raise a hand to wave Ida away as she surged forward, her concern obvious.
“I'm okay,” he said, then focused on Bess again. “Your father didn’t much like you marrying Paul, Elizabeth. But he let it go, thinking he could mold Paul into the sort of corporate husband he wanted for you. He gave Paul that new position and helped him out financially, but in the end...”
“Go on, Tom, please. In the end, what?”
“Maybe your father pushed him too hard, but... hell, Elizabeth, in the end Paul just wasn’t good enough. He didn’t have the guts and he didn’t have the brains. He just wasn’t... good enough. That’s all I can say.”
“Oh, no. No, Tom, you can say a lot more than that. Let’s have it out in the open, because I have to know. And you have to tell me. Because if you don’t, even Ida won’t be able to protect you. No matter how much I owe you, I’ll have it out of your hide.”
“Saints preserve me from all women!” Rossiter raised his paw like a NYC traffic cop. “Okay, honey, but remember I’m guessing at some of this.
“Once the old man decided Paul Bradley wasn’t going to cut the mustard, he started getting paranoid about it, putting even more pressure on Paul. Then, when you got pregnant, your father decided he didn’t need Paul anymore. It was the heir he'd wanted in the first place. So he arranged for Paul to be set up. Gerry Coolidge did most of it, but I had a hand in it, and I won’t deny that. We adjusted some of the books so Paul would get left holding the bag. I'm talking years of prison time, and Paul wouldn't have lasted six months inside a prison. Your father knew Paul would—”
“Damn it, Tom, this is...was my husband you’re talking about! And my own father arranged this? Ordered it? Sanctioned it? My father did this to his own child, his own grandchild?”
“Pawns! Corporate pawns!” This time it was Ida’s voice that broke the ensuing silence.
And Rossiter’s that continued. “Once he had his heir, and from the way he spoke there was never any question in his mind that it would be a boy, he didn’t need Paul anymore, and sure as hell didn’t want him around. Your father told me Paul was too soft, would contaminate the business.”
“So my father got rid of him. Might as well have taken out a contract on him. In fact, that’s what he did. He drove Paul to suicide, forced him to take out a contract on himself.” The words popped out as Bess thought them, but they struggled for a foothold in her mind. It was simply too incomprehensible, too crazy for words. And too obviously true.
“Nobody intended him to shoot himself, Elizabeth. Nobody even thought of such a thing. He was just supposed to...go away.”
“And then, after I lost the baby, my father let me go off to Colorado to recuperate, but when this British businessman came along, he started the whole game all over again. Same game, just different players, except for me. His daughter. His brood mare. His corporate whore.”
“You sound like you blame yourself for this, and you shouldn't.” Rossiter shook his head. “Paul Bradley was not a nice person, Elizabeth. We found out...a lot of things about him. Later. Your old man's intelligence network must have been wonky when he hired Paul in the first place, because I doubt he'd have had him in the building if he'd known what we eventually came to know.”
“He was my husband!”
“He was a bad bastard through and through, with a long, bad history of using and abusing women, among other things. A manipulator, just like your father, but worse, in his way, really... well... twisted. He was a control freak and he ... well, I'm surprised you never realized this ... although I'm just as glad you didn't – he liked to hurt women. Physically, emotionally, any way he could. He was a piece of shit, Elizabeth. A nut case; you're well rid of him and lucky he did what he did before he started in on you. Which he would have, sooner or later.”
Rossiter's angry voice halted as Bess choked down the horrible bile of sudden realization, trying desperately to keep her face from revealing her pain. She gulped, swallowed, gulped again, praying she could contain herself.
This time the silence was complete. Rossiter looked shamefaced and contrite. Ida looked strangely immobile, for Ida. And Bess could only stare at the wall above Tom’s head and wonder if she wasn’t losing her mind... if she could keep from losing her breakfast. Until...
“Could you kill my father for me, Tom? Once you’re better, I mean? And don’t tell me you don’t deal with such things. I know—”
“You know about strong-arm tactics and maybe extortion. But I’m no killer, Elizabeth, despite the fact that I’m as tempted as you are. However, your father isn’t really responsible, or at least I don’t think so. He’s nuts. Sick.”
“He's evil! That’s what he is, what he’s always been! Evil!” Bess shook her head, auburn mane of curls flying everywhere as she fought to keep the tears from overwhelming her, fought for the control she knew she must have.
And found it. “All right then,” she said, meeting Tom’s eyes once again. “Tell me how to get revenge. How to get even.”
Rossiter, for some strange reason, looked over at Ida, then back at Bess, before he slowly replied. “What is it they say? Revenge is a dish best eaten cold?”
“It’s a dish best not eaten at all,” Ida said, drawing Bess’s attention with the icy bitterness in her voice. “Colorado
, this is not a place you want to go. Trust me.”
“It isn’t what I want to do that’s the issue. Don’t you see what my father’s done? I’m just as responsible for Geoff losing out on that business deal as if I had been a part of it all, right from the start.”
“That’s bull and you know it.”
“It's not! If I hadn’t been here, none of this would have happened. It couldn’t have happened.”
“Listen to me, Colorado, and listen up good. Revenge will only cause you more hurt and more pain. I know. I’ve been there. And let me tell you this for nothing, while I’m at it. You don’t want to end up like me!”
“What’s so wrong with you?”
Bess and Rossiter stared at each other as they realized they'd spoken in unison. Ida didn’t even bother to answer their question.
“If you two are finished,” she said, “I have things to do and Rossiter needs his rest. Come on, Colorado, I'll drive you home.”
Impulsively and somewhat gingerly, Bess gave Tom a hug. “I forgive you,” she whispered, “but I can never forgive my father.”
She and Ida were halfway to Geoff’s when Bess, having endured the blonde's stoic silence as long as she could, finally said, “I know you thought it was time for Tom to rest. But are you really busy, or might we just go somewhere and talk?”
Ida shot her a glance that could have been curious, angry, bitter, or a combination of all three, then savagely yanked at the wheel of her Pajero.
Turning off at the Sixways, she drove down into the Punchbowl Reserve, then part way up the other side to where a small parking bay allowed them to converse with relative privacy.
“So talk,” she said, reaching down to switch off the engine.
“Would you tell me more about what you said... about revenge?”
Ida’s laugh was brittle black bitterness. “What’s this? Confession time? Just two good old girls together? Forget it, Colorado, I don't need that anymore.”
Finding Bess Page 21
