Where You Belong (20 page)

IV

I heard the key in the lock and the door slam, and I suspected it must be Donald.

And it was.

“Ah, there you are, Donald,” I said. “Come on in and listen up. I have a big surprise for you. Your mother has explained the famous will. I am supposed to inherit Lowell's. It's an old family tradition dating back to Amy-Anne Lowell of 1898. Only girls get it, you see. But I don't want it. I therefore give it to you, Donald.”

“You cannot do that!” my mother cried heatedly, half rising from her chair, her face suddenly flushing.

Donald remained standing in the middle of the antique rug, looking from me to his mother, a stunned expression on his very handsome face.

“I don't understand,” he said, speaking directly to her. “Don't I get any part of the business? Is that what Val's saying?”

“Shares, Donald. You will receive shares in Lowell's, and also my other investments will be yours,” she answered in a placating voice. “This apartment, the art, everything I personally own is coming to you when I die.” She patted the sofa. “Come and sit here, and I will explain about the will.”

He glanced across at me, then did as she suggested.

Slowly, and very patiently, our mother gave Donald all the details of her will and spent quite some time explaining about The Tradition. The way she had pronounced this right from the beginning had made me realize that she was capitalizing it. But then, no doubt all the Lowell women before her had done the same thing. I had meant what I said to her. It was a stupid family rule. What if there were no female descendants? No wives or daughters of sons in any given generation? What would happen then?

I thought of asking her that and then immediately changed my mind. I was itching to escape; there was really no reason for me to stay. I had made my point. And it was obvious she was not going to give me any explanation for her treatment of me when I was little. I could not wipe the slate clean, as Jake had suggested. Nor could I slay the demons after all. So I might as well go.

After hearing his mother out, Donald turned to me. “You said you didn't want Lowell's. Do you mean that, Val?”

“Of course I do. I don't live in New York, I live in Paris, and I've no intention of moving. Furthermore, I have a career. I don't need another one. I certainly have no interest in Lowell's. I wouldn't know what to do with a cosmetics company.”

“You could learn to run it,” Margot Denning said.

“Fat chance of that!” I shot back. Looking across at Donald, I continued. “You'd better get married quickly. Marry that girl. Then when the time comes for me to inherit Lowell's, I'll just give it to her. It's as simple as that.”

“Is it?” Donald stared at his mother.

“That has never happened in the entire history of Lowell's, but I suppose Val could do that . . . she would be passing it to a female member of the family. . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“But why does a female have to inherit?” Donald asked.

“It was a rule made by the founder of the company, your great-great-grandmother Amy-Anne Lowell. Her early life was terrible. She suffered horrendous physical abuse from her father and her brother. She was a punching bag for them when they were drunk. When she was fourteen, she ran away from Boston, where the Lowells lived. She eventually found her way to New York and worked mostly as a servant girl in the home of the rich of this city. When she was seventeen, she found a position with an old lady, a spinster lady, and she became her personal maid and companion-secretary as well.

“The old lady liked her, was very kind to Amy-Anne, and she left her some money when she passed away three years later. But much more important, she left Amy-Anne a handwritten book of recipes for creams, lotions, soaps, and candles. Amy-Anne knew they were excellent since they had been made up for the old lady, a Miss Mandelsohn, to her specifications. And Amy-Anne had used them, knew their quality.

“Miss Mandelsohn had brought the book with her from Germany when she immigrated to America as a girl. It's a long story how Amy-Anne opened her chemist shop in Greenwich Village, and I won't go into it now. But once she did, she made a vow to herself. She vowed that no man would ever have power over her ever again. Nor over any of her female offsprings and her eventual descendants.

“Amy-Anne was most fortunate in her choice of husband, because he was a truly good man, devoted to her and their three daughters. And he was a chemist who helped her to succeed. Nonetheless, that rule remained. It was the law in the family: Only females inherit wealth and power. And it has been passed down from mother to daughter. It is The Tradition.”

I

“And there you have the whole story,” I said to Jake, and leaned back against the floral sofa in the sitting room of the Beekman Place apartment.

“It's just amazing—I mean that she denies her behavior during your childhood,” he murmured, frowning and shaking his head. “I think you're probably right, Val, she must be seriously disturbed to have treated you the way she did in the first place. And there's something else . . . where was your father when all this was happening?”

“Oh, forget him, he was a wimp!” I exclaimed. “Totally under her thumb. He was besotted with her, gaga about her, actually. I knew that, but Aunt Isobel confirmed it to me a few years ago. She said my mother walked all over him, and he never objected. Aunt Isobel also intimated to me that my mother had affairs with other men, and I'm sure that's true. In a way, I'm sorry you didn't meet her, because she's really something—”

“I'll bet she is,” he cut in.

“Yes, she is a piece of work, no doubt about that,” I agreed. “But what I meant is that she's very, very beautiful. Glacial, mind you, but still beautiful. And you know what—she doesn't seem to have aged since I was seventeen. She's exactly the same in her appearance. Time passing has not left a trace.”

“I thought she was ill?”

“I guess she made a rapid recovery from the heart attacks. Anyway, all I can say is that on the surface she looks fantastic. There's certainly no sign of illness. And not a line on her face.”

“There's nothing like a sharp knife cleverly wielded by a brilliant surgeon,” he said, and reaching out for the bottle of Beck's he took a quick swig.

“I wouldn't know whether she's had plastic surgery or not, Jake. But I doubt it. I think she has good genes, and, of course, she's taken great care of herself . . . to the point of being obsessed with herself and her appearance.”

He nodded. “There are a lot of vain women in this world. But, hey, Val, you've done your best, tried to get to the bottom of your problem with her and without success. She's in denial, she'll never talk to you about your childhood. So, since you can't wipe the slate clean after all, then I guess you should just sling all that garbage out the window. Figuratively speaking. Get rid of it. And let's get on with our lives.”

“You're right, as usual, Jake. I'll do just that.”

“One more thing before we close this subject matter out. What about that rule . . . about only females inheriting the family company . . . it's the weirdest thing I've ever heard. Don't you think so?”

“I think it's . . . daft, but then, the full story of Amy-Anne is quite hair-raising, I'm sure. Being the punching bag for the Lowell men when she was a child must have been soul destroying as well as brutal on the body. She was probably pushed to the limits of her endurance, so who can blame her for not wanting any man to have power over her ever again? She obviously discovered that money is power, and therefore the best protection ever invented.”

Jake rose, came over, and sat down next to me on the sofa. Taking hold of my hand, he gave me a long look that seemed oddly sorrowful, then cleared his throat several times.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked. I knew there was even before he answered. Being sensitive to his moods and his emotions, I could read him like a book. I was convinced he was troubled about something quite separate from my family problems.

Finally he answered. “While you were out seeing your mother, you had a call from Mike. He wants you to phone him back. He'll wait up for your call, he said.”

“Something's wrong! What did he tell you?”

Jake sighed and his mouth drooped down at the sides. “It's about Françoise. She went into labor yesterday. Prematurely. She lost the baby.”

“Oh, no! No, Jake! That's so terrible for her.” I felt the sudden pinprick of tears behind my eyes, the rush of emotion in my throat. “Poor Françoise, oh, that poor girl, she's suffered so much. Now she's lost the child. . . .”

I shook my head and stared at Jake intently. “You should have told me when I first got back. This is much more important than my mother and my problems with her.”

“I wanted you to get everything off your chest, it's troubled you for so long.” He leaned into me, kissed my cheek, and finally released my hand. “There's not much you can do for Françoise from here, you're too far away. And that's why I let you rattle on about Lowell's. But now you'd better go call Mike, honey. He's waiting, and it's late in Paris.”

II

“Jake just told me what happened, Mike,” I said to my boss in Paris once we had exchanged greetings. “I'm so very sorry.”

“Yeah, I know . . . it's tough for her, Val, and thanks for calling back, I appreciate it.”

“So where is she? What hospital's she in? And even more important, how's she holding up?”

“She's doing fine, she really is. . . .”

I waited for him to complete his sentence, but he did not. I said, “Mike, Mike, are you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” he answered, sounding down in the mouth. He sighed and added in the quietest voice, “There's something I didn't tell Jake . . . the baby was born dead . . . she'd probably been dead for a few days, maybe even longer. . . .”

“Oh my God, Mike! Françoise must be devastated, beside herself with grief.”

“She is pretty heartbroken about it, and she blames herself, because she says she should have left Olivier a long time ago. She's convinced he damaged the baby when he pushed her down the steps in Marseilles. She believes the baby would've been all right if she'd left him. Who knows . . . I told her she shouldn't castigate herself.” He let out another weary sigh. “Françoise is broken up about the loss of the baby girl.”

“I can imagine. Can I contact her? What hospital is she in?”

“I put her in a private clinic.”

“That was smart of you. Which one?”

“I'll tell you in a minute. There's something else you should know. I'm pretty damn certain that son of a bitch Olivier has been sniffing around your apartment here. Certainly he came up to the Gemstar office looking for you—”

“You're kidding!” I interrupted peremptorily, taken aback. “I'm glad I'm not in Paris. What's he like?”

“Good-looking, but I suspect he's one helluva thug. I don't think he'd have any compunction . . . about doing anything. Adam Macklin saw him, I was in a meeting, but I caught a glimpse of him when he was leaving. Anyway, he doesn't know you're in the States. Adam had instructions from me to say you were in the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest in Uganda. On special assignment. I doubt very much that he'll go looking for you there.”

“You think he put two and two together, then? Is that what you're getting at, Mike?”

“More than likely. That's why I didn't take Françoise to the American Hospital here. Too obvious. And it would be the first place he'd look if he had any inkling or suspicion that she'd gone into labor prematurely.”

“Why do you think he seized on me, focused on me?”

“You're a very obvious connection. Françoise told me that her mother had mentioned you when they went to Marseilles. Olivier heard your name that day. He knew you were staying at Les Roches Fleuries with Jake and were still there when Françoise came back to Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat with her parents. It's more than likely he checked the airlines, asked for the manifests when she disappeared. He saw your name and Jake's and, of course, hers. I'm sure her parents haven't given anything away. It's all deduction on his part, and let's not forget, he's a homicide cop and he's used to doing complicated investigations, tracking stuff down. And from what she's told me, he's an ace at it.”

“Can I get in touch with Françoise tomorrow, Mike?” I asked, not wanting to hear anything else about Olivier. He scared me.

“Sure. I put her in a private clinic in Saint-Germainen-Laye, just outside Paris. She's pretty safe there until she's feeling strong enough to come back to the city.”

“What's going to happen to her, Mike? What are her plans now that she's lost the baby?”

“I don't think she has any plans. Not yet. And I honestly don't know what she wants to do in the future. The main thing on her mind had been to carry the baby to full term . . . she'd been having acute pains, other physical problems, and to tell you the truth, I wasn't too surprised when she suddenly went into labor. Nor am I surprised that she lost the baby . . . she's been under such physical and mental stress.”

“She can't go back to Olivier,” I announced. “She'd be sentencing herself to death if she did.”

“I agree, and she agrees, and let's face it, he's already started tracking her.”

“You and she must be careful, Mike, and I must too . . . because I'm a link to her—in his mind anyway. But she could come and stay here. When she can travel. He thinks I'm in Uganda, and he certainly doesn't know about this apartment. Françoise could stay here and fully recuperate. And at the same time she could do some hard thinking, decide what she wants to do, make some plans for the next few months.”

There was a silence at the other end of the phone.

“Hello, Mike,” I said. “Hello . . .”

“Sorry, Val, to go silent on you, I was just thinking that one through. It's not such a bad idea, having her come stateside. But I was hoping you'd be coming back to work soon. There are all kinds of assignments waiting for you.”

“I plan to, Mike. In fact, Jake and I don't intend to stay here much longer. We've been pulling some of our pictures together this weekend, trying to get the presentation ready for the publisher. And once we've done our stuff, so to speak, we're hightailing it back to France. But Françoise can stay here without me, that's not a problem. It's my grandfather's old apartment, very roomy, comfortable, and there's a maid who comes in several times a week. She'll be fine here. Also, my best friend lives in New York. Muffie Potter Aston, and Muffie will be happy to keep an eye on Françoise. Look, she'll be safe here, Mike, I'm sure of that.”

“I believe you, and it may be just the solution she needs. I'll talk to her about it in a few days. She's too troubled right now, honey, and as I told you, heartbroken about losing her baby.”

“Olivier's a bastard . . .”

“That he is . . . you asked about her plans, the future. The thing is, I'd like her to be in my future, and so would my girls. They've really taken to her, as I told you before, and I have a strong suspicion Françoise wants that too. But, well . . . listen, she's got that maniac of a husband to shed first, and that ain't gonna be an easy task.”

“You're right. Anyway, let's think about my idea for a couple of days, and if you give me the number of the private clinic, I'll call her.”

“Sure,” he said, and rattled it off.

III

While I was on the phone to Paris, Jake had been busy in the dining room. Earlier, we had spread out the piles of pictures on the table, trying to bring a semblance of order to them. Now he sat making notes on a yellow pad, and when he heard me come in, he turned around.

“Mike's pretty upset, isn't he?” he said.

Leaning against the doorjamb, I nodded and answered, “Yes, he's very worried about Françoise. I guess he's really become involved with her in the last couple of weeks. I can't say I blame him, she's lovely looking and sweet natured. But that husband of hers presents a huge problem.”

“And how,” Jake agreed. “He's a bully and—”

“Mike called him a thug,” I interjected.

“He more than likely is, and he could prove to be dangerous.”

“I suggested to Mike that Françoise come to stay here at the apartment when she's up to traveling.”

Jake looked surprised and exclaimed, “I'm not so sure that was a good idea, Val.”

“We'll be going back to Paris very shortly, and there's no reason she can't stay here. Aunt Isobel won't mind, and Muffie will keep an eye on her.”

Jake let out a long sigh. “You seem to have adopted her.”

“Not really, but I do feel so sorry for her. From what she's told me, her life with Olivier Bregone has been a nightmare.”

“And you probably saved her life that day at the villa, so you feel responsible for her now, no?”

“I hadn't thought of it that way,” I said.

“This guy Olivier Bregone is a nasty piece of work, from what we've heard about him, Val, and I think if he becomes too frustrated about finding her, he'll lash out, and I don't want you to be one of his targets. I don't want you to get hurt.”

I didn't respond, merely stood staring at him from the doorway, and then I explained. “When Olivier showed up at Gemstar, looking for me, they told him I was in Uganda on assignment.”

“He's been to Gemstar!” Jake cried. “Jesus! That spells trouble to me already. You can't get so involved, Val. But tell me what happened?”

“Mike was in a meeting, but he instructed Adam Macklin to say I was out of the country, and there's no way he could know I'm here in the States.”

“Want to bet?”

“Well, I guess cops can find out things if they really want to,” I muttered.

“I don't think Françoise should come and stay here, Val, I really don't. Please be sensible about this. She has to work out her problems with her husband, get a protection order, divorce him, do whatever's necessary, and if you think Mike's become emotionally involved, then he should be the one helping her. You hardly know her.”

“You're right, I guess. . . .”

Jake jumped up, crossed the floor, grabbed hold of me, and pulled me into his arms. “You're just too good for your own good sometimes, Valentine Denning! I've got to look out for you, and look after you, because you're the most precious thing in my life.”

“Oh, Jake darling,” I said against his shoulder. “Thank you for that. I feel the same way about you . . . I love you.”

He held me away from him and looked into my eyes. “And I love you, Val. Very much.”