Sex, Lies & Serious Money

9

Theresa blinked, and her jaw dropped. “Fired?”

“I am mindful of your company’s prohibition against your having personal relationships with your clients, so I am no longer your client. Will you stay for lunch?”

She smiled. “I’d love to.”

“Do something with your brother,” he said. “No witnesses.”

“I’ll speak to him.”

He heard momentary sounds of an argument, then the door slammed.

She returned. “Where are we having lunch?”

“Here,” he replied, leading her into the study and the bar. “What would you like?”

“You decide.”

Laurence picked up the phone and pressed a button. “Good afternoon. I’d like a lobster salad for two, hold the celery, and a bottle of well-chilled Puligny-Montrachet. Thank you.” He hung up. “May I get you a drink while we’re waiting for delivery?”

“A Campari and soda, please.”

He poured the drink and himself some mineral water.

“And how did you spend your morning?” she asked.

“I went car shopping, then cruised Madison Avenue in search of promising galleries for later visits.”

“You’re fond of art?”

“Very.”

“What will you be shopping for?”

“Young painters with promise, occasionally older or deader artists.”

“Auctions?”

“I don’t like the idea of bidding against people with more money than I. I’d rather bargain with a dealer.”

“Did you buy a car?”

“A Bentley Flying Spur. That’s the smaller model.”

“Nice choice.”

“Thank you. Tell me about your brother.”

“Butch? He’s just moved to New York and is job hunting. I’ve gotten him an interview with our personnel people for a sales position.”

“Is that all he’s qualified for? He looks old enough to have some job experience at something.”

“Oh, Butch has knocked around for years, since college. I think he’s finally decided to settle down and start a career.”

“Good for him.”

“The apartment is gorgeous. Didn’t I see a piece about it in the Times recently?”

“You did, as did I. I fell in love with it immediately, and again at first sight. I’ve bought some new pieces of furniture and some pictures, which will be delivered this afternoon.”

“I noticed you were missing a dining table.”

“Among other things. The place was furnished, but I didn’t like everything. Ralph Lauren is well represented, though, and I didn’t send back any of his pieces.”

“I’ll tell him you said so.”

The doorbell rang, and Laurence admitted a waiter with a cart and pointed him to the study. He served lunch, poured the wine, and left them.

“Thank you for arranging my dressing room,” he said.

“I was happy to fill it for you. I noticed that you didn’t glance at a menu when you ordered.”

“If they couldn’t make a lobster salad and come up with a good Puligny-Montrachet, I’d move out.”

“I’ve also noticed that your accent has become very British.”

“I have dual citizenship, but I’ve spent most of my life in Blighty. Somehow, the accent is more natural to me.”

“What are your plans for the afternoon?”

“After ravishing you? I have to see my lawyer, interview a woman for a job as my secretary, and sign my new will.”

“Your first one?”

“Yes. I never felt I needed one before, but since my father’s death...”

“I see. And by the way, you’re not ravishing me this afternoon. I still have a job.”

“We can talk about that at dinner,” he said. “Name a restaurant.”

“I like the Monkey Bar,” she said. “It’s not far from here, in the Hotel Elysée.”

“Done. I’ll call for you at seven.”

“Sounds good.”

They spent a pleasant hour together, then she left.

Laurence arrived at the offices of Woodman & Weld on time, and was taken in to see Herb Fisher.

“How’s it going?” Herb asked.

“Very well, thanks.”

Herb placed a thick sheaf of papers on his desk. “Here’s your will and a trust document, which you may take as long as you like to read.”

“Tell me the short version.”

“All right. Fifty million each to Eton and Magdalen College, Oxford, a hundred million to your mother, and the rest to a charitable trust, with Stone Barrington and I as administrators.”

“Perfect,” Laurence said. “Have you a pen?”

Herb handed him a silver Montblanc, and he signed the will and the trust document. “Beautiful pen,” he said.

“The pen is a gift,” Herb said, “from the firm.”

“Thank you, I’m grateful to the firm.”

Herb glanced at his watch. “Are you ready for the job interview?”

“Of course.”

Herb made a call, and shortly a woman entered his office and offered Laurence her hand. “I’m Marjorie Mason,” she said. “Everybody calls me Marge.”

“I’m Laurence — no mister, please.”

“As you wish.”

They offered her a chair. “Tell me what you’ve been doing recently,” he said.

“I joined Woodman & Weld after college, and for the last eleven of those years I’ve worked for a partner, who recently died.”

“And what did you do for him?”

“As he used to put it, ‘Everything a wife does, except for sex.’ In short, I managed his life, dealt with his banking and investment people, found him domestic staff, arranged his social life, and anything else he could think of.”

“That sounds like what I’d have you do for me. I’ll be traveling a lot, and you’d be on your own. Are you all right with that?”

“I’m the best company I know,” she said.

“Then I’ll offer you a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars a year, health insurance, and a 401k, I believe it’s called. Your office will be in my New York residence, at the Fairleigh. Four weeks of vacation a year, but not more than two at a time, and a clothing allowance. Is there anything else you need?”

“I’ll let you know. In the meantime, I accept.”

“When can you start?”

“My late boss’s affairs are now in perfect order. I’ll take the rest of the day to clean out my office, sign my pension documents, and be at the Fairleigh at nine tomorrow morning.”

He gave her a key to the apartment. “Let yourself in and find your office. It’s on the south side, not far from the kitchen. Order whatever you need for office supplies and get yourself set up with a computer and printer and anything else necessary.” He stood up and offered her his hand. “Thank you, Marge. See you tomorrow.”

She shook his hand, thanked him, and left.

“Now, Herb, if you’ll excuse me, I have furniture being delivered, and I need to place it.”

“Of course. Good move with Marge,” Herb said. “She’s a great person.”

“I could tell,” Laurence replied.

When he arrived back at the Fairleigh, men with the dining table were waiting near the concierge’s desk. He waved them toward the freight elevator, then went upstairs to his apartment.

For the next two hours, people arrived with furniture and paintings. He placed everything exactly where he wanted, then stood back to admire the results. With the fresh flowers he had ordered, the place was starting to look as though someone lived there.