The Long Road Home Part 37

Charles reacted with an icy smile. "I am sure there are those who will claim so, but no. I am not mad. I am quite serious."

Sidney decided to sit down. He stared at his shaky hands, and when he looked up at Charles again, he searched the face of his one-time friend for some clue as to how he should react. Charles's face was devoid of any expression, but his eyes held a strange gleam.

"Controlling interest in the bank in exchange for a painting?" Sidney asked, not believing what he'd heard.

"The MacKenzie van Gogh. Yes," Charles confirmed.

"In the name of G.o.d, why?"

"For the name of Charles Walker Blair, that's why." Charles continued in a louder voice, enunciating clearly. "It's simple. I want the loans cleared because I want my name cleared. I'm willing to trade my stock for that."

Charles turned and walked to the door. "May the best man-or woman-win," he said graciously. Before he left, he looked over his shoulder at Sidney. His blue eyes were intense. Then he was gone.

Sidney leaned back in his chair, feeling bewilderment before hurt and anger. What was that all about? What the h.e.l.l was that final look? Was it some secret message that he was supposed to interpret?

Or, was it a warning?

C.W. stretched and looked out his window toward Central Park. Encircling the park, building after building of granite, marble, and gla.s.s-symbols of all he had rejected-cast shadows upon the foliage. He rubbed his eyes and turned to look around his apartment. The antique Mahal rug, the onyx table, pre-Columbian figures, European paintings, Italian Renaissance chairs-all reflected a personal, educated taste. One that he still admired but no longer felt akin to.

The clock read 3:00. One more visit. He had made many visits today, battening down the hatches, as Seth would say. His head was on the block; the directors at the bank were up in arms, and Agatha was poised with the dagger. C.W. smiled. He excelled at these eleventh-hour takeover attempts.

After plugging in the coffee machine, he jumped into the shower to wash away the day's grime. By three-thirty he was dressed in a conservative dark suit and drinking coffee; by four he had made two more calls and was reading the catalog of Nora's auction. C.W. studied each item, its description and provenance. The estimated values were fair, but a few items were so spectacular in style and form as to be without a real price. He had to pause and admire their photographs.

"Not bad, old girl," he mumbled. No doubt about it, Nora had a great eye. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances she would have an important sale. His second visit that morning, however, informed him that she had a fiasco. Sidney couldn't keep a lid on MacKenzie's impending bankruptcy. The dealers swarmed down and had already divvied up the goods and set the prices, knowing the MacKenzie estate could not set a minimum bid.

C.W. made a fresh pot of coffee and set out another cup. This time, the second cup was not for Nora. He wished it was. The door buzzer sounded. He glanced at his watch again: 4:25.

"Fas.h.i.+onably late, Agatha," he murmured in distaste as he crossed the floor. Pressing the intercom, he ordered, "Show her up."

C.W. held his hands behind his back as he stood before the window, reviewing his plan. Two knocks sounded on the door. He knew no more would come.

"Agatha," he said politely after showing her in.

Agatha Blair held out her gloved hand and turned her cheek toward him. C.W. refrained from kissing it. Her eyes flashed and again their yellow hue reminded him of a snake's.

"Son," she said with a flourish.

C.W. cringed, as he did every time his stepmother used that endearment. She was a shrewd opponent and he'd have to be on guard.

Agatha strode past him into the drawing room, eyeing him over her shoulder while her elaborate cane clicked on the marble tiles. "You look fit, all ruddy and tan. Mountain air?"

"Honest living."

"Hmm." Her eyes raked him from head to toe. She was tiny and thin and her charcoal-gray hair was swept up in a matronly bun. But he was not fooled. Beneath her pet.i.te exterior and Chanel suit lived the heart of a corporate raider. Agatha held her own against the toughest on Wall Street, and usually emerged the victor. If a deal was cut, Agatha knew about it. If a hand was shaken, she set it up, and if a secret hid in the walls of the bank, she sniffed it out. C.W. knew it and counted on it.

"Coffee?" he asked, stepping back.

"Please. Black. No sugar."

"Nothing sweet. Of course."

Agatha sank into a silk-upholstered chair, keeping her hands tight upon her ornate cane. "It was quite a surprise to receive your call," she said, accepting the cup and saucer. "It's been almost a year. We were all quite worried. The bank was in an uproar, but we managed." She took a small sip.

"I had no doubt."

"It was irresponsible of you, nonetheless. Where was your loyalty? Or did you down it with one of your bottles of scotch?"

The stab was quick and clean; she could have been discussing the weather.

The cup stilled at his lips. Swallowing the bitter brew, C.W. slowly placed his cup upon its saucer. "My loyalties have always been to my family."

Agatha's eyes widened a hair and he knew he'd hit his mark. She had never been accepted as family by himself, Cornelia, or the relatives.

"Furthermore," C.W. continued, "as you no doubt are aware, I settled with Sidney before leaving."

Agatha set her cup down with a small clatter. "Sidney." She spat out the name in disgust.

C.W. raised his brows.

Agatha visibly reined herself in and lifted her cup again. After a pause, she raised her eyes to his. "Taking an interest in art lately?" she asked.

C.W. leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "Not generally. No."

He noticed her foot tap twice. "Offering stock in the family bank for one painting const.i.tutes an interest, I'd say."

C.W. sipped his coffee.

Agatha's voice rose in pitch. "An avid interest."

He held back a smile. "It is a van Gogh."

"Controlling interest!"

C.W. let his smile loose and slowly, with deliberate ease, placed his cup on the table next to hers. Not a drop spilled.

"Well, Agatha. Talking to Sidney, are we?"

"Everyone is talking to Sidney! That ineffectual school-marm. His clumsy attempts at learning why you want that painting has everyone stirring. That b.l.o.o.d.y auction will become the social event of the season. How dare you make such a spectacle of our business? How dare you make such an offer to Sidney without first speaking to me? You know as well as I, he'd never be in that position if he wasn't married to your sister."

C.W.'s eyes narrowed. She had slipped. His offer to Sidney was too fresh for gossip. C.W. abruptly stood and crossed the distance between them, allowing his size to add strength to his argument.

"To begin with, Agatha, it isn't our bank. It's mine. I still have controlling interest. Secondly, I do not remember ever requiring your permission for anything I decided to do. Thirdly, I don't believe Sidney is the only one to have married into the business."

"How dare you!"

"This is business, Agatha. I invited you here today not to discuss family, but to make you a proposition." C.W. placed his hands behind his back and coolly eyed his stepmother.

"The invitation to bid for the painting is open. The one who acquires MacKenzie's van Gogh at the auction acquires my controlling interest in the bank. A simple trade."

Agatha's eyes glared and she pinched her lips. He knew she could not refuse.

"It'll be bid up into the millions."

"Cheap at the price, wouldn't you say?"

"This is absurd! Why this painting? What game are you playing?"

"What's the matter, Agatha? Can't you play a man's game?"

She leaned forward upon her cane, clutching it so tightly that her hands resembled the wooden ball and claw feet of her chair.

"You impudent pup. I can play any game you set up. And I play to win. I don't give a d.a.m.n why you want this painting. You probably owe some Colombian drug dealer a clean payoff. Game-hah! You ought to know. You played at every bar in town after that fool MacKenzie blew his brains out in your office."

C.W.'s face turned to stone.

Agatha's mouth twitched into a thin smile. "What's the matter, Charles? Was that a tad too rough for you? All that mess, and all that scandal... Tsk. Tsk. Finance is a dangerous game. You shouldn't play with the big boys unless you can play rough." Her eyes shone.

C.W. stretched his fingers at his side to calm the anger that was rising. Very good, he thought, sizing up her skills. She knew where to strike. Now it was his shot.

"You may be right, you know," he replied evenly. He spread his jacket and stuck his thumbs in his belt. Then, looking at his shoes, C.W. gave his head a weary shake.

"It's not a game," he replied evenly. C.W. moved to a chair and sat down, staring at his hands. "Let's be honest. For once. It cannot be news to you at this point that I intend to resign. We both know the bank cannot afford another scandal. Nor do I wish to endure one. I'm wealthy enough to walk away, and that is exactly what I intend to do." He lifted his eyes to Agatha's and his voice rose in warning.

"I do not, however, intend to walk away with my reputation in tatters. I want MacKenzie's loans paid back and my name cleared. It was either you or Sidney who set me up, and I don't give a d.a.m.n which of you buys me out. The h.e.l.l with both of you. As soon as I know the bank is solid, I want out."

Agatha's hands stilled on her cane while her eyes studied him through narrow slits. Then she stomped her cane.

"It's a done deal. As if Sidney could do anything."

C.W. tilted his head. "A done deal? My brother-in-law is a well-educated, shrewd banker. Don't underestimate him."

"You are out of touch." She clucked loudly. "The MacKenzie scandal almost drove the stock down. Then you disappeared. People lost confidence in you-and your sidekick Sidney Teller. They came to me. Me! If it wasn't for my intervention, my planning, the bank would have gone under." Her fingers clasped and twisted up along the cane as she s.h.i.+fted her weight. "And now you have the audacity to come back from some drunken binge and tell me that you're offering controlling interest of my bank to that loser."

"You're having trouble with p.r.o.nouns, Agatha. The possessive can be tricky."

"I've never slurred my words," Agatha parried.

C.W. leisurely walked over to the Sheraton sideboard and poured himself another cup of coffee. It was clear that she had set up Sidney as neatly as she had set up MacKenzie-and himself. It was a shame she was so brilliant. While pouring, he stole a glance at his watch. Time was running out. He had to finish this in a hurry.

"You wouldn't be afraid to lose to Sidney?" he asked, returning to their arena around the coffee table.

Agatha rose and stomped the floor with her cane. "Lose to Sidney?" She laughed with the screech of a crow. "I? You must be spiking your coffee. I haven't lost one round with Sidney yet. You don't think for one moment I'd give him the chance to ama.s.s power over me. I'd see the bank go under first. Afraid of Sidney. Hah." She waved her hand again and muttered something under her breath.

C.W.'s eyes glowed over his steepled fingers as he sat, listening deeply.

"Do you fear me perhaps?"

"Fear you?" She studied him again for a long moment, then slowly shook her head. "Once, perhaps. When MacKenzie killed himself, you couldn't stomach it. It revealed a weakness in you. Call it a human weakness, it doesn't matter. Human qualities are not valued in business. And your sister! Cornelia clings to that failure of a husband. If she had any spine she'd have thrown him out long ago. Him and that mindless butler."

Agatha picked up her purse and threw a final disparaging look his way. "No. I'm not afraid of you. You are not ruthless. Neither was your father, or your sister. It is your Achilles' heel, and it will be your ruin."

She turned and without another word paraded from the room, not bothering to close the door behind her.

C.W. strode across the checkered floor to the door, catching a final glance of her withered features before the elevator doors closed.

She didn't see him smile.

Fate decreed that Nora's auction would be the playing board upon which not only his own problems would be resolved, but Nora's problems as well. Knowing that, he did not challenge fate. He used it to set his strategy. The players were on the board. The first move had been made. He had to finesse the black queen-and the game was his.

"Checkmate," he said confidently.

He didn't know that his own queen was already on the move.

Late that night, in another part of Manhattan, Sidney and Cornelia shared their bed but not their thoughts. They lay side by side, neither attempting to cross the five-inch gulf that separated them. Over dinner, Sidney had cursed Charles Blair's black heart and his own blind loyalty. That Charles could offer controlling interest of the bank to Agatha was bitter. It made him physically ill. Better to sell public than offer to Agatha.

Cornelia had listened silently, not touching her plate, not offering even a syllable of rebuke or defense of her family. With a strange look of anguish on her face, Cornelia had spoken of patience and faith. Trust and loyalty.

Empty words, Sidney thought, lying in bed with his mouth twisting in anger. He stared at the blackness.

Charles was ever the calculating shark, he realized with cold logic. Charles must have known that things were tense between Nelly and him. He wasn't cutting him a deal in case the marriage fell apart. That had to be it. He wouldn't even offer to his sister.

d.a.m.n, but Charles was really going for the highest bidder! Sidney, intensely hurt, hadn't thought that really possible.

To h.e.l.l with the whole Blair family, Sidney muttered as he rolled angrily on his side, presenting Cornelia with his back. He'd buy that stock if it took every penny he had, and it no doubt would.

"Sidney?" Cornelia's voice was soft with sadness.

He didn't respond. His voice caught in his throat. He heard her sigh heavily and turn to her side, careful not to let her body brush against his. The distance between them pained him. He missed his wife. He loved her still. All it would take was a stretched-out hand, one touch. But no. Impossible. The gulf was too wide.

Sidney tossed and turned for hours, wondering if Charles had really betrayed him. Hadn't Charles warned him of rough days coming? Of doubt and the need for trust? Was this offer to buy the van Gogh the last trick of a desperate man, or another ploy of the unpredictable Charles Blair?

Possible. He remembered the intense stare in Charles's eyes. The recollection gave him hope.

Then Sidney shrugged the emotion away. It didn't really matter. This was business. Every man for himself. Let the bidding war commence, he decided with more aggression than he'd felt in years. The bidding would go high, he figured, but he knew what the bank was potentially worth, and it was more than even Agatha knew. They'd underestimated the bank, Sidney thought, jutting out his jaw and clutching his pillow tightly.

And they'd underestimated him.

32.

NORA TOOK A LONG, last look at her mountain before climbing in the Volvo beside Esther. The Johnston family was there to wave them off, sharing a look of sadness and shock as they cl.u.s.tered on the front lawn. In only twenty-four hours, Nora and Esther had closed up the big house, designated their ch.o.r.es, packed, and said their farewells. All that was left was to leave.