Cat On The Scent

60

On a glorious afternoon the following week, Sarah Vane-Tempest was directing her gardeners. H. Vane-Tempest, in a cashmere-and-linen turtleneck, worked in his secondary office, used only in good weather, a twenty-by-twenty glassed-in porch with French doors across the entire breadth. He could open all the doors on an especially good day.

He had little sense of the ordinary work week. He did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted and expected his help to be there. For this demanding schedule he paid quite well.

Seated across from him, Howard Fenton organized blue-covered legal packets, twelve of them. His assistant, a young man fresh out of Yale Law, carefully double-checked each document.

Vane-Tempest, using a fountain pen, the only appropriate writing utensil, signed the last one. Behind him stood his two secretaries, whose function today was to witness the documents and affix their signatures to the bottoms.

Howard viewed the two men—Vane-Tempest would employ only male secretaries, multilingual at that. “Does the subject appear to be in full possession of his mental faculties?”

“Yes,” they answered in chorus.

“Does he appear to sign this document freely and without coercion?”

“Yes.”

Vane-Tempest raised an eyebrow. “Would you like my blood type?”

Howard, humorless, replied, “Not necessary, sir.”

“Next.” Vane-Tempest held out his hand, his ultrathin watch half hidden by his cuff.

The Yale Law graduate handed him another legal-sized document. This one had beige covers to distinguish it from the others.

“Mmm.” Vane-Tempest read quickly. He understood the law quite well for a civilian. Then, too, those many decades of business, real estate, and one jarring divorce had taught him the basics: Screw them before they screw you.

In this instance he wasn't interested in besting someone. He was acting with largesse.

“I think you'll find it is just as you dictated, sir. . . .”

“I know, Howard, but it's a damn fool who signs a contract without reading it, even if he did dictate it. If you're bored,”—his voice dripped acid and well it should, since he kept this law firm on a million-dollar retainer—“walk with my beautiful wife in her beautiful garden.”

“I'm not bored.”

“I'm so glad to hear it.” He read on and ten minutes later signed the beige-covered documents, again twelve copies.

The black ink, specially purchased from Italy for its richness of hue, glistened on the last page of the last document. Vane-Tempest blew on the page.

The young assistant surreptitiously sneaked a glance at Sarah, the lush light outlining her breathtaking features. This is what money buys, he thought to himself.

“Shall I hand deliver the Teotan papers to Mr. Bainbridge?”

“Yes. Mr. Bainbridge, as you know, is in hospital. Don't tire him.”

“Despite his injuries I do believe this will revive his spirits.”

“Hope so, Howard. Nasty business. The police will never find the criminal. They never do, you know. You Americans display a curious disregard for punishment and deterrence.”

“Sir?” Howard stood as his client got to his feet.

“If you catch them you let them off on parole. If they're in jail they work out with weights or watch TV. Devil's Island, by God, send them to Devil's Island. You'll see your crime statistics plunge.”

“I agree.” And he did.

“Off with you, then.” Vane-Tempest smiled genially as Secretary Number One showed the two lawyers the front door.

He clasped his hands behind his back. Butterflies covered his Italian lilacs, late bloomers, but everything was late this year.

He strode outside feeling better than he had in a while. Putting his arm around Sarah's shoulders, he guided her to the expanse of manicured lawn, the croquet pitch, facing the north. The direct western view, the best mountain views, he wisely left unmolested, the lawn merging with the edge of a hayfield.

“Spring. Finally. Unequivocally.”

“Yes.”

“I have resigned my interest and by extension your interest in Teotan,” Vane-Tempest informed his wife.

“What?” Dismay read over her face.

He held up his hand. “Patience. Hear me out. I have turned over the corporation to Blair, to which he has agreed. He has only to sign the documents I have prepared and Teotan is his with my investment. I apologized for taking out my jealousy on him and speaking harshly to him. He apologized for an ‘immoral escapade.' Exact words.”

“What about me?”

“I thought we could go into business together. The two of us. What would you like?”

Turning to view her garden she replied, with a hint of determination and excitement, “A nursery. A wholesale business to supply the landscape architects.”

“How interesting. I thought you might pick a dress shop or a theater.”

“A nursery. It's healthier.” She beamed at him.

“So it is.”

“H., why are you relinquishing Teotan? There are other ways to buy off Blair Bainbridge.”

“The fellow doesn't have to be bought off. He doesn't remember much about that afternoon. Not uncommon with head injuries, I'm told. So let's just call it insurance . . . in case he does remember on some distant day. Besides, I think it imprudent for us to be in business with your former lover. I thought I was very clever in keeping Blair and Tommy close to me. They never suspected, I know, and I had ample time to study them. Archie, however, was a complete and dismal surprise.” He didn't admit that he figured out about Blair from hearing her answer Archie's accusation during their tryst in Archie's office. He knew from the tone of her voice.

Not missing a beat, she said, “I hated you, H. You dismissed me.”

“How did you keep all those balls in the air, forgive the pun.” He heard what she said but changed the subject.

“I've always been good at scheduling.” She stifled a laugh.

“Did you love any of them?”

“No. Blair is a sweet fellow but too languid, ultimately. And that was the briefest of affairs, H. Two weeks.”

“Tommy Van Allen?”

“A flameout. It was fading before he died.” She bit her lower lip, turning to face her husband. “I hated you and I wanted to hurt you. Don't change the subject. I wanted to hurt you, Henry. You hurt me.”

H. Vane-Tempest could withstand news, no matter how bad, as long as he was the center of it. “You succeeded.”

“I'm desperately sorry.”

“No, you're not. But you will behave and we will create a successful nursery. And I suggest you give Mrs. Woo a great deal of business, for all the trouble you've caused her.” As Sarah remained silent he continued. “The reason you'll behave, Sarah, is that I changed my will just now. If my death is in any way suspicious you inherit nothing. Nothing. You do understand?”

“I understand that you will live a long and healthy life.” She kissed him on the cheek.

“You had pluck trying to kill me. I underestimated you, undervalued you. That won't happen again.”

“You killed Tommy Van Allen, didn't you?”

He shrugged. “I doubt Rick Shaw will solve that crime.”

“Henry, I know you . . .”

“Tommy Van Allen was an impulsive fool. He had enough cocaine in his bloodstream to kill three people. The rest was window dressing.” He neglected to mention that he had shot the cocaine into Tommy's veins. Cocaine was ridiculously easy to get in this wealthy county. She stuck her thumb in the waistband of her wraparound skirt. “Teotan is, I should think, generous recompense to Blair.” She paused. “Do you think the county will buy the well water?”

“I do. I think Blair will become a wealthy man, not serious money, but some money.”

Sarah laughed, because in her husband's world, less than ten million dollars qualified as some money.

He kissed her lightly on the mouth. “I'm going to lose forty pounds. I've let myself go.” He kept to himself the daily shots of testosterone he would be taking. Some things were best left unsaid.

As for putting Tommy's bomber jacket in Herb Jones's truck, and the handcuffs in Archie's van—no one had even found those, more's the pity—he did that for the sheer devilment of it. It was exciting to watch everyone come unglued.

The presence of Sarah's black Jaguar at Blair Bainbridge's still bothered the police. But Vane-Tempest had crawled to the top of the heap by understanding people in a cynical fashion. If the police had a solution that the public accepted, then what was one odd piece that didn't fit into the puzzle? They could prove nothing against Sarah or him.

He knew Sarah had been in the plane with Tommy. He had gotten up in the middle of the night, called Tommy to meet him at the food plant under the pretext of a Teotan emergency, shot him, and loaded him with cocaine. It took all of fifteen minutes. He was home in bed by three o'clock, with no one the wiser. Planting cocaine and a locker storage ticket in Tommy's car was child's play. Faking a set of accounting books was easy, too. He'd run numbers off his computer, then put them into a leather binder.

As for himself, he didn't fear Sarah. This episode, as he chose to consider it, only whetted his appetite for her. He saw her now for what she was, a tiger. And so was he.