Imperfect Strangers

CHAPTER 40

The ringing woke Sandy early; he glanced at the bedside clock as he reached for the phone. A quarter to seven.

"Hello?"

"Dad?"

"Angus, where are you?"

"I'm in Beaune. Are you all right?"

"Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're all over the Herald Tribune this morning," he said. "You and Cara."

"What?"

"Your picture at the airport; you're standing right behind that Arab guy"

"Oh." After all, there had been a lot of photographers there. "Yeah, it got a little too exciting there for a minute."

"I'm glad you weren't hurt. The article doesn't mention you by name, but I couldn't see you in the second photograph."

"We ducked when the shooting started. Did you pick up your car in Stuttgart?"

"Oh, yeah, and we had a great tour of the Porsche factory, too. Maggie says hello. She had one hell of a hangover the morning after our dinner. Come to that, so did I."

"Did you call M'sieur Calvet?"

"Yes, and our tour is today Maggie is champing at the bit."

"Take a lesson from that girl; get interested in wine."

"It looks as though I may have to."

"I thought Maggie was terrific; so did Cara."

"Maggie liked you both, too, and I think Cara is a knockout."

"Where're you headed after today?"

"Looks like it's to Bordeaux; more wine country."

"Good news. Keep me posted on your whereabouts, okay? Call in every few days."

"From Bordeaux we plan to drive through the south of France to Rome, taking our time."

"Good. Try the Hotel Hassler in Rome; it's a lot like the Connaught."

"We will."

"How's the car running?"

"Just great; it's a real pleasure to drive. Well, I'd better get going."

"Glad you called. Keep in touch."

Sandy got out of bed and went to the front door for the Times. Spread across the bottom of the front page were three photographs of the Said shooting, in sequence. In the first, he and Cara could be seen clearly, he apparently looking toward the photographer/shooter. In the second, their heads were nearly out of sight behind the luggage cart, as Said was struck by gunfire, and in the third, they were nowhere to be seen. He took the paper into the bedroom, where Cara was struggling to sit up in bed. "Have a look at this," he said.

Cara blinked at the sight of the photographs, then read rapidly through the story. "I'm glad they didn't mention our names," she said.

"The cop must not have given them out."

"It's a hell of a way to get on the front page, isn't it?" she said.

"A hell of a way."

"Do you think this will make the San Francisco papers?"

"Maybe. Let's cross that bridge when it collapses under us."

"Whatever you say. How about some breakfast?"

"Please."

Cara got into a dressing gown and headed for the kitchen. Sandy shaved, showered and got dressed, then went into the kitchen.

Cara was dishing up eggs and bacon. "I think I'll get our furniture orders in this morning," she said, "then this afternoon, I'll come to your shop and do some measuring, if that's all right."

"That's fine."

"I'm going to have to use Thea's resources to find the right cabinet maker for the shop fixtures," she said. "I think we may have to go to somebody with some theatrical set design experience, to get the right look. It's going to need some distressing, to keep it from looking too new."

"Whatever you say."

"What are you going to do about Peter?"

"I don't know yet; it's going to take some thought."

"Yes, it is."

"Maybe the best thing is just to do nothing; maybe he'll cool off and stay away," he said.

"Maybe, but I'm not going to count on it," Cara replied.

Sandy hit the work hard as soon as he got to the office. He'd been neglecting the business, what with everything else he'd had to contend with over the past weeks, and it needed attention. He called in the shop manager, Ed Klein.

"Ed, you've done a fine job managing the shop," Sandy said. "Now I want you to take a larger role in the whole business, both London and New York."

"I'd like that very much, Sandy," Klein said.

"I'm buying a vineyard, too; that's still hush-hush, until we close the deal, and I'd like you to start thinking of ways we can merchandize our own wines through the shops and mail order."

"That's going to be very exciting," Klein said.

"I'm giving you a twenty percent raise, and I'd like to pick somebody from downstairs to begin stepping into the shop manager's position. Have we got somebody who can do it, or do we have to go outside?"

"Mark Hammond will be perfect," Klein said.

"He's only been here a year or so; are you sure?"

"He works like a beaver; he knows the operation better than anybody else down there."

"I'll take your word for it."

"What's my new job called?"

"How about vice-president and general manager?"

"I like it."

"Something else; now that we're independent from Bailley and Son, I'd like you to put together an employee benefits package-health insurance, profit sharing, life insurance; whatever you think we need to create some loyalty to the company. I want our people to feel secure, and I want their loyalty. Structure it, cost it, and make a recommendation."

"I'll get right on it."

"I want you to spend at least half your time with Mark, until you're sure he has the shop in hand; the rest you can spend on whatever else we come up with." He shook hands with Ed, then turned to looking over that week's ad in the Times.

The phone rang; Sandy picked it up. "Hello?"

"You take a very nice picture," he said. "So does Helena."

Anger welled up in Sandy. "You son of a bitch. I told you never to call me again."

"You lied to me, Sandy."

"You deserved to be lied to. You haven't done anything but lie to me since I met you. You lied about your wife, certainly; you can't be trusted."

"You wound me."

"If I hear from you again, I will."

"Threats, now?"

"Promises. Listen to me very carefully: back off; give it up; let go. Lead your life; let us lead ours. You'll be a happier man, believe me."

"I create my own happiness."

"Don't be self-destructive. You got what you wanted from her. Be happy with what you have."

"Sandy, Sandy; you just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

There was a click, and the connection was broken.

Get what? What did the man want? What would make him go away? Sandy hung up the phone and sat, at a loss about what to do next.