Wicked Pleasures (75 page)

‘So – let’s get this straight,’ said Charlotte. ‘He just phoned you. In this men’s room?’

‘Yup. We’d had a really tough meeting. Out at Bloom’s place near Washington. But it was over and like I said we were at this private airfield. And Beaufort knew I was there. It was – weird.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘Well, he said we should keep talking, keep the price moving.’

‘Because he has some stock already?’

‘Obviously. So not only did he know about the deal in enough time to acquire stock, but he knew we were pulling out.’

‘So – someone in the meeting was in touch with him.’

‘Yes. Either one of us, or one of the Blooms people.’

‘But – who was there from us?’

‘Me. Fred. The lawyers. John Clark.’ John Clark was the new junior associate, pale and thin, with a large adam’s apple, lower down the pecking order even than Charlotte, too frightened to so much as breathe if Gabe turned his attention on him.

‘Well there’s your answer,’ said Charlotte with a quick grin. ‘He’s obviously your spy.’

‘Sure.’ Gabe took a large gulp of coffee. ‘This is nice coffee, Charlotte.’ Charlotte felt as if she had been awarded the Nobel Prize.

‘Lawyers?’ she said, determinedly keeping her attention on the matter in hand.

‘Unlikely. It was Mason, who’s been with the firm for about a thousand years, and Matt Jacobson who would be hung, drawn and quartered before he took so much as a paper clip away from Praegers.’

‘Well, I was in Nassau,’ said Charlotte, ‘so it certainly wasn’t me. I don’t see that it matters greatly, Gabe. I mean, you said no, presumably.’

‘Yeah, sure I said no. But I might not have done. That’s the point. And they knew. That’s the other point.’

‘Why are you asking me anyway?’ said Charlotte. ‘You know it couldn’t have been me.’

‘I had to ask you,’ said Gabe.

‘Why?’ she said, edgy now.

‘Well because I thought you might have some ideas. And because I have to. In case of any reprisal. Have to show I did everything I should have done.’ He scowled at her. She felt the old throb of simultaneous excitement and outrage at him. Bastard, keeping her out of bed at – what – two in the morning, quizzing her about a crime that he knew she would never commit. She scowled back. Then she said, ‘I’m very tired, Gabe. Now that you’ve completed your investigation, could you leave me, do you think?’

‘Sure. Sorry.’ He stood up. It was so unusual for him to apologize that Charlotte felt her jaw threatening to drop. ‘It was just – disturbing.’

‘I suppose,’ she said slowly, ‘the point was that Fred was there. Actually there. Could have heard about it. Or heard it.’

‘Precisely. Lightning sharp as usual. God, Charlotte, I sometimes wonder if you have a brain at all, inside that pretty little head.’

Charlotte stood up and opened the door. ‘Goodnight, Gabe,’ she said. ‘It’s so nice to be back.’

‘See you in the morning. Don’t be late.’ He looked at her for a moment or two, his eyes travelling over her, and then grinned. ‘You look very well. The seaside obviously suits you.’

She found his remark and his careful consideration of her almost as exciting as all the sex she had had with Jeremy over the past three days.

In the morning Gabe was irritable, edgy. She got in at seven and found him already at his desk, his watch off, swearing into his Quotron.

‘I have to go to Rome for a couple of days,’ he said, ‘big conference there. Your grandpa just told me. I could do without it.’ He looked at her fiercely, as if it was her fault.

‘Do any assistants get to go to this conference?’

‘Yes they do. John Clark gets to go.’

‘I see.’ She felt stung, oddly rejected. All the shit she took from him, and then when he could have done something nice, he made a point of publicly not doing so.

She sighed; Gabe looked up at her and grinned.

‘I didn’t think two days alone with me would please you too much. That’s second prize. You get first.’

‘Which is one day alone with you?’

‘No, two days without me. Handling this divestiture with Peacheys. OK?’

She stared at him. She could feel a flush rising under her tan: this was the first time in eighteen months he had suggested she might be able to do anything more difficult than bind papers together.

‘Handle it? On my own?’

‘For fuck’s sake, Charlotte, you should be able to by now. It’s extremely straightforward. Three buyers. Closing in two days. We’re looking for at least six seventy-five, but you know that. Try and push them to seven. You can always go and ask Grandpa if you get into deep water.’

‘Oh shut up,’ she said, but she was smiling. ‘Thanks, Gabe.’

She looked at her watch, on her newly browned wrist. ‘Coffee and bagels?’

‘Yeah, thanks.’ He had followed her eyes, noticed the watch.

‘Very nice. Memento of the vacation?’

‘Of course not,’ she said, blushing furiously, angry with herself for wearing it her first day back.

‘He must be very rich,’ he said and laughed.

‘He is,’ said Charlotte, trying to sound dignified.

Gabe went off after lunch; she said goodbye to him feeling already sick with nerves at the thought of her divestiture. She told herself it was stupid; just a little matter of accepting the highest bid for a small, healthy little company in Ohio. Couldn’t be simpler. The bids would all be in in the morning; she just had to field them, and then accept the highest – or most suitable – and go ahead and send off the contract. Nothing to it.

She hardly slept.

The phone rang shortly after lunch, Gabe’s personal line. The voice was quiet, slightly Southern in accent.

‘Is Mr Hoffman there?’

‘I’m sorry, he’s not. He’s out of town until Monday. This is his assistant speaking. May I help you?’

‘I think not. Just tell him it was about the Bloom deal. We spoke two days ago. Goodbye.’

Shit, thought Charlotte, that must have been Beaufort. What was going on? Why did he think Gabe was worth pursuing? And how did he know that number? Only half a dozen people did. It didn’t make sense. Well, maybe it did. Gabe was a star. A star, privy to many many deals. Worth tying up. She hoped to God he was actually not in the process of being tied up. This was all a little fishy. Then she remembered his anxiety, his patent distress, and shook herself. Gabe was many unpleasant things, but he was honest. If he was less honest, her own life might be more bearable, she thought, sighing. He might make an effort to be kind to her, patient, to pretend he found her at least not distasteful. ‘Yes, and then you’d be even worse off, Charlotte Welles,’ she said aloud, ‘given food for hope. This thing will starve itself to death soon.’ She scribbled a note to Gabe and put it on his desk: ‘The phantom caller from the airfield called. Wants to talk some more. I think. On Tuesday?’

Next morning she travelled in early. It was so nice without Gabe, she thought, walking briskly up Pine Street at a quarter to seven. She felt so secure, so in charge, so confident. Not even the worry about Peacheys was getting her down. One day, she thought, embarking on her favourite, well-worn fantasy, one day … She’d have him sitting in some satellite office, leaping up and down when she rang for him, waiting nervously to show her some figures, agreeing with her every utterance. Although she knew that was highly unlikely. Probably he’d be gone, she thought. He wouldn’t stand for more than a week of her being in charge. Well, half in charge. She mustn’t forget Freddy. Nice though that would be.

As she walked into her office, Freddy was coming out of it. He looked startled when he saw her.

‘You’re very early, Charlotte. Trying to cope without Gabe?’

‘I am coping without Gabe, thank you. And what are you doing in my office?’

‘Not actually yours, as I understand it. Or have things changed? I was just leaving a note for him, as a matter of fact. About a lunch on Tuesday. I got a message by mistake. How was your vacation? What did you do?’

‘Great. Short but very sweet. I was sailing. You know how much I love sailing, Freddy.’

‘Yes of course. I can’t remember, did you say you were going alone?’

‘I didn’t say anything, Freddy. But as matter of fact, I didn’t go alone. I went with a friend.’

‘Oh I see. Nice watch, Charlotte. Present?’

‘Oh – yes. Well, sort of.’

‘Your friends are obviously well-heeled.’

‘Some of them. Please excuse me, Freddy, I have work to do.’

He walked out of the office.

She spent a very nice weekend at Beaches with Betsey; Fred had flown to join Gabe in Rome. They shopped, walked on the shore, went to the movies and ate hamburgers like two truanting children.

When she got back, there was a message from Max. He was doing a job for
Seventeen
magazine and staying at the Hilton. Could he come over, maybe she’d like to cook a meal for him? If he didn’t hear he’d be over at eight.

Oh God, thought Charlotte wearily, dialling his number. Why did life have to be so complicated? Max had gone out.

‘This is great,’ said Max, wandering into the kitchen where she was making them some coffee. ‘I love it. That stove doesn’t look exactly well worn.’

‘Nobody in New York uses a kitchen for cooking anything except toast and coffee,’ said Charlotte. ‘The big apartments all have huge, gleaming stainless steel affairs, with ovens and hobs and microwaves and God knows what, and they never ever get used. New Yorkers would think you very strange if you cooked dinner for them. If you ask people over for dinner, you mean you’re going to take them out. Then you get to the restaurant and work the room and throw a fit if you don’t have the best table. It isn’t very relaxing. Max, look, about supper this evening. It’s a bit awkward. Tomorrow would be better.’

‘Are you expecting someone? You are! Is it Jeremy, I wonder?’

Charlotte felt the floor rock beneath her. ‘How on earth did you –’

‘Darling, you look as if you’re going to faint. I heard you on the phone to him at Christmas, that’s all.’

‘Max, you’re disgusting, listening to people’s phone calls.’

‘Maybe, but you certainly learn a lot. Don’t worry, I haven’t said anything. Promise. Is he nice?’

‘He’s – very nice. Yes. But it isn’t serious, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘No, of course not. I mean I wasn’t.’ He grinned at her. ‘It’s all right, Charlotte, I’ll leave in a minute. We can have dinner tomorrow. I don’t want to come between you and true love.’

‘It isn’t love, I told you.’

‘Even better.’ He looked at her shrewdly. ‘You’re looking very – glossy. How much did that coat cost?’ He nodded at the three-quarter-length fox jacket she had thrown on the couch when she came in.

‘Oh,’ she said, blushing, ‘I can’t remember.’

‘Charlotte, don’t be so jumpy. I don’t care who you’re going around with. Anyway, I want to talk about me.’

‘Well that’ll make a change.’ But she smiled back at him.

‘You look very good. Slimmer than I can ever remember. Love suits you.’

‘I told you I’m not in love,’ said Charlotte irritably.

‘Oh, not with the sugar daddy. But with friend Gabe, I suspect. I’d put money on it, even.’

‘Well, you’d lose your money. I can’t stand him, I keep telling you.’ She changed the subject. ‘So what did you want to talk about, Max?’

‘I’ve been thinking. What would you think about me going into the bank?’

‘The bank? Max, you’re crazy. You’d hate it.’

‘I don’t think so. I get a kind of a buzz, listening to you talking about it all; the games you guys play. I think I’d like it. And it certainly beats sucking in your cheeks and watching some pervert getting his rocks off over you through his
zoom lens. I’m just so sick of that whole scene, Charlotte, I can’t tell you. I just got ticked off like some naughty little boy for having to cancel out on a job; I couldn’t help it, I was ill. And the novelty has worn off in a big way. I have to do something. So I thought I might give it a try.’

‘There’s more to it than giving it a try,’ said Charlotte primly. ‘You either have to do it or you don’t. But I suppose you might like it. There’s a lot of boredom there as well, you know. And you get ticked off a great deal, I can tell you. Anyway, you’d have to ask Grandpa or Uncle Baby, it’s nothing to do with me. Incidentally, how is Uncle Baby? Have you seen him lately?’

‘Not very. I think he’s OK. Why?’

‘Oh – nothing. Well, I don’t think he’s very well. Did you notice how thin he’d got at Christmas? And he looks really drawn.’

‘Haven’t heard anything,’ said Max. ‘But I’ll make some discreet inquiries if you like.’

‘Please. I would. Poor Uncle Baby, I feel so sorry for him. And Angie’s such a bitch and –’

‘She’s not so bad,’ said Max easily. ‘She’s been very good to me.’

‘I daresay,’ said Charlotte tartly. ‘She’d be good to anything with a cock to play with.’

‘Charlotte! Dirty talk. Did you learn that sort of thing from Jeremy or Gabe?’

‘Neither,’ said Charlotte. ‘But I tell you, Max, if you want to hear dirty talk, you should go to the trading floor. I heard words there I didn’t even know what they meant. I could just tell they were filthy. They talk it all the time. It’s amazing.’