Homecoming (8 page)
Horace Milton turned in his chair and surveyed the Sutters and Norman, glaring at each in turn.
“And
you
—you should be ashamed of yourselves. Aiding and abetting the enemy. You know what this place will turn into if the Mansions ever get hold of Harry’s Folly. The whole town will change. We’ll be overrun by business types and they’ll start laying down rules and regulations to protect their investment and we’ll be prettified and regulated out of existence. They’ll take the town over. Don’t you remember what we said at the caucus?” Milton stared at his half-empty wine glass and pushed it away in disgust. “Lost my taste for it. Can’t drink when I’m upset. Spoils the spirit of wine. I’ll be back when we’re in better company.” After a sharp hostile glance at Federica, Horace rose slowly and hobbled away, leaving a long, uncomfortable silence.
Federica stared down at her uneaten steak. The air had grown suddenly chilly and she shivered.
“I’m sorry, Federica,” Lilly said gently into the silence. “But no one can stop Milton when he wants to have his say. No one has ever been able to shut him up, and that includes the government. We wouldn’t want to shut him up even if we could.” She drew in a long breath. “That’s part of why he likes it here in Carson’s Bluff. Everyone is free to do and say exactly what they please here.”
Everyone’s free to do and say exactly what they please here
. The words burned like acid in Federica’s mind. She hadn’t drawn a free breath in eight years.
“That’s okay, Lilly.” Federica smiled wanly. It was as if some giant black hole had opened up over Northern California and had sucked out all the pleasure and ease of the night. “Well.” She placed her hands on the table and stood up. “It was a lovely dinner, Lilly, thank you. Wyatt, please congratulate your father on his wine for me.”
Congratulations from a Mansion
, she thought.
That ought to go over big
. “Newton, I wonder if you could—”
“I’ll drive you back, Federica.” Jack already had her sweater on her shoulders and a hand at her elbow.
“If Miss Federica wants me to take her up, then that’s what I’m doing.” Newton towered over Jack, and his deep voice sounded threatening.
“That’s all right, Newton.” Federica laid a hand on his arm. Sweet, loyal Newton. His evening had been spoiled, too. Well, tense evenings in a hostile atmosphere were what being a Mansion was all about. Newton should know that by now. “I’ll go up with the sheriff. Thank you all very much for a lovely evening. Good night.”
She turned away, leaving the rest unspoken. But it hung in the air.
And good-by.
FAX FROM: Ellen Larsen, c/o Clairmont Hotel, San Francisco
FAX TO: Federica Mansion, c/o Sheriff’s Office, Carson’s Bluff
Hi, honey. It’s 10:30 at night and I’m turning in. My supervisor offered me the Black Death Paris run tomorrow (turnaround time only two hours!) in exchange for another three-day free period starting the 5th. Since I haven’t heard from you, I accepted. Nobody knows what’s going on with you. Getting information out of the SF office of Mansion Enterprises is like asking the CIA for its list of agents. Their reaction ranges from silence to stony silence. Like trying to get information out of Inter Airways when a flight is late. I didn’t say that.
Anyway, no one’s talking, least of all that louse Russell White. I’m starting to get worried. Did you come down with the Ebola virus? Legionnaire’s disease? Have you been kidnapped? Knock twice if you’re there. See you on the 5th (I hope).
Love, El
MESSAGE NOT RECEIVED/NO SIGNAL
FAX FROM: Russell White, c/o Mansion Enterprises, San Francisco
FAX TO: Federica Mansion, c/o Sheriff’s Office, Carson’s Bluff
Federica,
Your emails are bouncing, so I’m sending another fax.
I’m trying to get on top of the Carson’s Bluff project, which I’m temporarily heading pending F. M.’s return from Prague. I told you that in a previous fax, but the machine on your end was switched off. I’m prioritizing this so we can stay on schedule. We’re looking at a June 10 deadline, but there’s a lot of work to be done before we can seal the deal. We need more input this end. You’re not checking your email, so will try the fax again. Contact head office soonest.
Russell
MESSAGE NOT RECEIVED/NO SIGNAL
EMAIL FROM: [email protected]
Frederick,
I’m encrypting this, decrypt your end. Message below:
It’s 11:30 p.m. over here, 7:30 a.m. your end, so you should be reading this soon. I understand that this business with the Czechs is serious and I was told that the Czech President himself is keeping a close eye on the course of negotiations (he knows he needs the backing of the business community if he wants to be re-elected), so you just take your time over there and make sure our investments are protected.
Next year, Carlson will be retiring as head of the FTC and there is a good chance that you’ll be appointed, which will put Mansion Enterprises’ foreign holdings on a very good footing, indeed. So I would advise you to stay long enough to do the job right.
Everything is under control here, except for our Muau Loi property. Apparently some mistake was made in the original surveying and our property was built under a still active volcano, which has started erupting. Lava is flowing very slowly down the hill and will take more than a week to reach the Muau Loi Mansion Inn, by which time our geologists assure us that the eruptions should cease and the lava will cool.
Ordinarily, we’d just fly in a Vegas performer, Wayne Newton or someone like that, or an extra chef to keep the guests distracted, but we had a real stroke of bad luck. One of the anchors for the local TV station fancies herself Pulitzer Prize material. She raised a fuss about the risks to the hotel’s guests. The editorialist for the local paper called up Henly, the Muau Loi manager, for confirmation, and caught him by surprise. The man made a few unfortunate remarks and four-fifths of our guests checked out the next morning. We almost had a riot on our hands.
Of course, measures have been taken. Henly has been fired and Mansion Enterprises has withdrawn its advertising from the TV station and from the newspaper. I’ve been assured that there is very little likelihood of the lava flow reaching the hotel—nonetheless the damage has been done and we should be seen doing
something
.
It would be nice if Russell White could come out and oversee the construction of a lava break, but of course he’s busy with the Carson’s Bluff deal. So I guess that means we’ll have to go through the added expense of hiring an outside engineer. Pity.
On a happier note, I was golfing the other day with Walker from AmeriBancorp, and he said that if we add golf links to the Carson’s Bluff executive retreat, he’ll have the bank sign up for six weeks a year at the premium rate. It’s beginning to look like the Carson’s Bluff property will pay for itself in the first year and be turning a healthy profit in the second. Of course, everything depends on the final sale price and on the cost of restructuring, which is Russell White’s lookout.
By the way, Walker also gave me (in confidence) an interesting tidbit about White. It seems he asked AmeriBancorp for a second mortgage, which was rejected after the bank checked his credit rating.
Looks like White has been making a series of very bad investments playing the arbs, hoovering up bad stocks. He’s in debt up to his armpits. I passed on word to our Personal Finances Office to turn down any requests for a loan from White. Are we doing the right thing in entrusting the Carson’s Bluff project to him?
Federica hasn’t checked her email box for four days and she’s done something to make her emails bounce, so all messages are undelivered. What’s going on?
Paul
INTERNAL MEMO: Mansion Enterprises
From: Paul Cobb, Executive Vice President
To: Russell White
Russell,
Finances really needs those estimates on the Carson’s Bluff property. Factor in a fourteen-hole golf course and make sure it’s far enough away from the helipad.
Paul
Jack watched Federica out of the corner of his eye as he negotiated the dark switchback road up to the Folly.
She looked somehow smaller, curled up close to the door.
Goddammit, Horace was right. Of course he was right. If a big international conglomerate bought up the Folly, it would change the pace of life in Carson’s Bluff forever. Mansion Enterprises was pure unadulterated poison. For him, his family, his friends.
But that didn’t make him feel any better about having Federica Mansion curled up like a lost waif in the corner of his van. She was shivering. He switched on the heat.
The ride up was endless and yet too short. He pulled up in the Folly’s driveway and killed the engine. Federica already had the door open.
Her words came out in a rush. “Thanks for the ride, Jack. Don’t worry about me tomorrow. I’ll have Newton drive up and—”
“Whoa, there.” Jack clamped a hand on her wrist. It was small, delicate and soft. “Not so fast.”
“Let me go, Jack.” Federica twisted her hand, but his grip was too tight. He could almost feel the tears vibrating in her throat. “
Let me go
!”
She was hurting herself.
Jack released her wrist and she shot out of the van and into the night.
Federica rushed up the drive. She pounded up the steps then stopped when she reached the veranda. Though the night had turned cool, she hated the thought of cooping herself up in the Folly.
She sat down on the top step, looping her arms around her knees and letting the tears fall. She rested her head against her knees until the tears slowly receded, then lifted it again. Soon, the bright, starry night sky stopped being a blurred, watery mass overhead.
She looked up at the heartless sky. The swollen pale moon was waning. It had been a full moon back in Singapore. She’d watched it traversing the sky for hours, huddled in the requisite pale beige armchair, staring out the picture window of the thirtieth-floor penthouse suite.
I wish I had another job
, she thought dully.
Another life
. But she didn’t. This was the only job she had. And the only life, for that matter.
Federica tried to concentrate on what needed to be done. She should get onto negotiations right away. She’d wasted enough of her time. Her uncle’s time. Mansion Enterprises’ time.
But it wouldn’t come together. Every time she tried to establish a strategy, the thoughts would burst and fragment into a thousand pieces. It was like trying to push against a black rubber wall. The harder she pushed, the more it resisted.
It was useless. In her head was a jumble of words—Harry’s Folly, sale, lien—all meaningless, except for the heaviness they created in her mind and heart.
It was a clear night and the Milky Way was a creamy ribbon spiraling across the sky. The last time Federica had seen so many stars so clearly had been at the Tahiti Mansion Inn last year, though of course the constellations had been in the southern hemisphere, and therefore different and unfamiliar.
It was easier thinking about the stars than about her life. Safer.
She tried to recall a sky chart she’d once had as a child. She’d been fascinated by the constellations, the mythology, and had spent many long hours looking out her bedroom window, matching the charts to the stars.
Just as Federica realized that she hadn’t heard the van’s engine start up, there was the sound of boots on gravel, and the broad-shouldered black outline of a man blotted out Ursa Minor.
Jack climbed the steps and sat down next to her. They sat that way, in silence, for a long time.
Jack tilted his head and studied the night sky. “The ancients used to think that the Milky Way was a staircase to heaven. Some think humans became explorers because they wanted to follow the Milky Way to the end.”
Federica didn’t answer. The tall oaks blotted out great clumps of bright starry sky. In the distance, down in the valley, lights went out, one by one, until only one building was visible.
“Looks like Stella’s is still open,” she said finally.
“Looks like it,” he agreed.
Another long silence followed, broken only by the sudden eruption of a cricket’s seesawing cry and the soft hooting of a night owl. If not for the lights still burning at Stella’s down in the valley, they could have been the only humans on Earth.
Federica rested her forehead on her knees. “How much time do I have?”
He was smart. He’d know what she meant. How long could they hold off the start of negotiations? How much time could he give her? She didn’t even want to think of the real question.
How much time do we have?
Jack turned his head to her, considering. “I’d say…four days. Five if I push it. Then I’ll have to plug us back in and put Carson’s Bluff back on the map.” He paused for a long moment. “Will that be enough?”