Peach (60 page)

Noel had looked into the structure of the company carefully, finding it tallied with that of the big auto companies in the States, in that bureaucracy ruled and mediocrity dominated. The company was stagnant in its management, its design and its technology—and he had determined to find out why. Several trips to Japan, whose auto industry was booming, had convinced him that the old methods were wrong. Noel remembered the first car he’d worked on as a new engineer at Great Lakes Motors, filled with excitement and enthusiasm for his job. It had failed from a lack of entrepreneurism and a bureaucratic eagerness to conform: the designers, the engineers and the management had been unwilling to go out on a limb and say what they really thought and the car had ended up as a carbon copy of its predecessors—unexciting and doomed to mediocrity if not failure.

With this in mind Noel rejected the current cost-cutting measure in Detroit of “badge engineering”, that is of having each of the car divisions within the company produce a vehicle of the same size built on the same platform, with the resulting lookalike cars rolling off production lines and a total loss of identity. Car buyers were hard put to find any difference between purchasing a Pontiac or an Olds, a US Auto or a Buick. The only benefit was that it looked good on
paper to the financial men—at least in the beginning, until sales began to decline as disillusioned customers drifted towards the foreign market, and particularly towards Japanese cars.

Noel had decided that de Courmont—a company in decline with all the classic faults—would be the guinea pig for his experiment. As an engineer he’d never seen the benefit of the old system where the designer first “designed” a car and then the engineers were expected to adapt the design to the limitations and practicalities of mass-production, even though this allowed the massive financial investment to be spread across a five-year production schedule. De Courmont had begun its new life “frontloading”—that is, spending more money at the beginning of the proposed new car and having the engineer work together with the designer from the beginning. It cost more up front, but it eliminated a whole lengthy stage in production and in the long run the economy would be proven. The “Marquis”, a smaller town-car version of the “Duke”, was at design-planning stage. Meanwhile, de Courmont factories were churning out the popular “Stallion” and stacking up the profits. And Noel was the whiz-kid of the auto industry.

Still, he wasn’t quite where he wanted to be, thought Noel as he strode into the executive dining room at US Auto. Paul Lawrence slapped him on the shoulder cheerfully as he shook his hand. “Good to see you, Noel. How’s your lovely lady, and the boy?”

“Just fine,” said Noel, “and now there’s another one on the way.”

“Another? Well, it seems you’re not limiting your success just to one field,” replied Paul with a grin. “Come on then, the chairman’s waiting. Let’s have a bite of lunch and then you can rivet us with your latest concepts for reform in the auto industry.”

Noel followed Paul into the dining room, vaguely annoyed by the jocular reference to his work. He didn’t think Paul was denigrating his success, but perhaps he wasn’t taking it as seriously as he should.

Alone in the penthouse that evening, he poured himself a scotch, shaking it around in the glass so that the single ice cube chilled it to perfection, staring at the lights of the city from the windows. The meeting had been shorter than he’d expected and he was home early. The chairman and senior management had listened to his six-monthly progress report with rapt attention and little comment, except for praise at the end, but Noel had been left with the uneasy feeling that they had bigger things on their minds and that to them what he was achieving was just a small cog in the giant wheel of the auto industry. Striding through the corridors of power at US Auto he was greeted with nods and cheery compliments but everyone he met was en route somewhere else, busy clocking up their day’s dues in order to collect their day’s rewards. And what bothered him was that at the end of it all, one of these guys would be in line for the top job when it became vacant, as it inevitably would before too long. “Out of sight, out of mind” was a maxim that breathed truth. Noel was now merely a visitor at US Auto, even though he was president of one of their most successful companies.

Noel sipped his scotch gloomily. Just a year ago he’d thought he’d beaten the world. He was president of de Courmont and he was making a success of it. He hadn’t made the cover of
Time
magazine yet, but there had been a lengthy article on what he’d done for de Courmont and on the successful “Duke.” He’d had praiseworthy features in every financial paper and trade magazine and he’d appeared on TV in the US several times, explaining his methods and his success. Of course, the magazines and gossip columns had
latched on to his marriage to Peach de Courmont and, too often these days, he encountered his own face in the papers as he drank his breakfast coffee. Star-struck Paris seemed determined to make them a celebrity couple and photographers were hard to avoid at parties and restaurants. But in achieving success he’d made himself a bit of a maverick at his home base. After all, how could all those guys go on justifying their jobs if they agreed with his stand? It would mean a total re-structuring of the entire company, and he doubted they were ready for that. King though he was of his own French domain, when it came right down to it, in anyone’s eyes that mattered success meant America. It was the only place that counted. And Noel still lusted after that brass ring of power.

Goddamn it, he couldn’t stand being alone! He was missing Peach and his son. Glancing at his watch he picked up the telephone and dialled the Paris number. Oliver answered and told him that Madame had left for Germany that morning. Of course, Peach was taking Charles to visit her sister for a week or two—Noel had completely forgotten. Disappointed, he put down the phone. He could call her there, but he didn’t have Lais’s number. Damn, he should have asked Oliver. Should he call back? Moodily he turned away from the phone and walked to the hallway, collecting his overcoat on the way. He’d have a drink at the Pontchartrain and get a bite to eat. He just didn’t feel like being alone.

Sitting in the Pontchartrain dining room with a half-dozen friends, Claire Anthony saw Noel come in. She watched as the waiter placed him at a small table and the bus-boy rapidly whisked away the extra place-setting. So, Noel was dining alone. How different he looked from the sombre-eyed young man she’d fallen in love with. Noel Maddox had become a man confident of his success and his place in the
world. And yet there was still that heart-breaking appeal of vulnerability about him. Excusing herself, she threaded her way through the tables towards him.

“Alone at last,” she greeted him.

“Always good with the cliché, Claire,” responded Noel, smiling. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. I didn’t expect to see you here, though. I thought you were in Paris hobnobbing with European royalty these days?”

“Not quite. I’m a working man, just like everyone else. How’s Lance?”

She looked at him, surprised. “Didn’t you know? Lance had a massive heart attack last year. No, don’t look like that, he’s all right—more or less. A quadruple by-pass took care of his problem—for the moment anyway, so the odds are pretty fair that he will get to see his grandchildren.”

“I’m sorry,” said Noel, shocked.

She shrugged. “You might say he was just another auto-accident victim. The pressure of the business got him down. Things didn’t ever go quite the way he’d planned—but then, that’s the way it is for most of us. Except you, Noel. Word of your success precedes you—you are the talk of Detroit.”

“Really?” Noel studied her, not really caring what people said. She’d swopped the brightly coloured spectacles he remembered for contact lenses and she looked different and yet the same. He always thought of her as naked, without her glasses, because that was the only time he’d ever seen her without them. And when they’d finished making love she would put them firmly back on her nose again, before lighting the inevitable cigarette.

“You haven’t heard a word I’m saying,” said Claire shrewdly, “you were dreaming, Noel Maddox, and missing all the good things I had to tell you about yourself.”

“And who’s telling you good things about
you
these
days?” asked Noel as the waiter poured them both a glass of red wine.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re still as attractive as ever, Claire. It was a clumsy compliment, I suppose.” He stared at her. “No, it wasn’t. What I really wanted to say was—are you doing anything special, Claire, or can you keep a lonely man company?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Company?” Reaching across the table, he took her hand and a thrill of excitement rippled through her. “Lance is in California at the Fremont plant and I’m dining with friends from out of town. They’re catching an early flight in the morning so we won’t be partying late.”

“Meet me in the bar?” asked Noel.

Claire smiled as she pushed back her chair and a waiter hurried forward to assist her. “Like old times,” she said.

Naked, she was still as pretty as he remembered. She’d kept on the black lace stockings and the garter belt and she prowled his apartment in her high heels, a glass of scotch in her hand, looking like the cover of
Penthouse
. “You are a
provocatrice,”
called Noel.

“We call it ‘a tease’ in this country,” she said, “or are you so foreign now you’ve forgotten?”

“I haven’t forgotten your form of teasing, Claire,” said Noel, “but I remember you kept your clothes on the first time.”

“I’ve learned since then that it’s better without. Tell me something, Noel Maddox,” she said huskily, walking into his arms, “just why can’t I resist you?”

Making love to Claire was like a well-remembered piece of music that he hadn’t listened to for a long time—familiar, but better for not being heard for a while. He knew just
what she liked most and how she would react; she was beautiful and passionate and, as she always had before, she took away the ache of loneliness and restlessness he’d felt earlier that evening.

Wrapped in his terrycloth robe, Claire said, “I remember when it was cashmere.”

Noel smiled. “I’m a man of simple tastes now. But what about you, Claire? What’s happening in your life? I don’t mean Lance—I mean you. Are you happy?”

“My children make me happy. Kerry is almost through college now, and Kim’s there too. I have a lovely home and Lance is a very nice man,” Claire replied carefully.

Noel looked at her, saying nothing.

“I’m very lucky,” she added defensively, “a lot of my friends are in the throes of divorce, but of course, I wouldn’t do that …”

No, thought Noel, of course you wouldn’t, you’re not the type to kick a man when he’s down. “How’s Lance doing at Great Lakes Motors? I’m out of touch with things these days.”

“Lance is taking early retirement next year. We plan on buying a little place in the sun somewhere—Florida perhaps—and getting a sailboat so we can tack around the islands. Maybe find some uncharted atoll where we can play Robinson Crusoe. It’ll be fun—though not quite what Lance expected from life.”

“And what did he expect?” Noel poured another scotch, watching as she prowled the room nervously.

“What? Oh, chairman of Great Lakes Motors, I suppose. It’s ironic that just as the job’s coming up for grabs Lance isn’t well enough to go after it.”

Noel stared at her, stunned. “I hadn’t heard that,” he said.

“Not many people have. My father told us months ago
that things were going that way. And Masters, the president, doesn’t want the job—he’s too close to retirement. Of course nothing’s been announced yet but the chief is moving across into politics and I know that Great Lakes Motors have their scouts out for a successor. I should have thought it would be right up your alley, Noel, even though you’re a bit young, but of course, you are top dog in your own company, so why should you bother with the rat-race here?” She looked at him sadly. “I’ve seen pictures of your wife,” she added. “She looks very beautiful, very different. I think I’d probably like her a lot.”

Noel thought of Peach, probably sleeping peacefully, four thousand miles away. What was happening between him and Claire had nothing to do with reality and his relationship with Peach. It was just a moment’s passionate need to stem his feeling of loneliness. More than loneliness. A sudden sense of defeat. And now once again Claire Anthony was handing him a step up the ladder—though she didn’t know it.

“I have a good life, Noel, don’t I?” asked Claire. “On the whole I think I’d rather play Robinson Crusoe than be the corporate wife any longer—as you can see, I was never really cut out for the job.”

Noel opened his arms and as she ran into them he held her comfortingly. “It’ll be all right, Claire,” he murmured gently. “I’m sure it’ll be all right.”

“It’s just with the girls growing up and going away, and now this thing with Lance—suddenly everything’s changed,” she cried, tears staining his robe. “But none of us has it made, do we, Noel? You always told me that.”

Noel held her, saying nothing, simply stroking her hair.

“Oh dammit, I shouldn’t be crying,” she said. “I’ll wash out my contact lenses.”

“I wish you still had your red glasses,” said Noel. “I liked them.”

She grinned at him shakily. “I was always afraid men wouldn’t make passes at me.” Claire hesitated. “Noel. Could I—I mean would it be all right if I stayed the night? There’s no one home and I was dreading being alone with just my thoughts.”

“Be my guest,” said Noel.

She fixed him some coffee and he put on some quiet music and lay back on the sofa with his head on the cushions, and an arm around her, thinking out his moves. Tomorrow, first thing, he’d make a couple of calls, one to the chairman of Great Lakes Motors and the other to the president. He barely knew the first, and was on affable greeting terms with the other, but there was no doubt that they both knew about him. And if what he’d heard about the troubles the company was having were true, and he could convince them that what he offered was what Great Lakes needed. Then he would have the prize he’d always wanted. Sure, he was president of his own company now, sure he’d got his perfect car, but chairman of Great Lakes Motors was what he’d dreamed of since he first hit the streets of Detroit nearly thirty years ago.