“In a way I am, lover, but not for myself. Yes, that’s right-steel yourself. I have come to speak of her ladyship.”
“Did she send you?”
“No. God forbid. She doesn’t know I’m here, and she had better not find out.”
“What is it, Cynthia?”
“I think she’s in trouble.”
His jaw clicked. “She can take care of herself.”
“She thinks she can. Question, Russ-have you heard of one Mason Villiers?”
“The one who gutted Lee Central Plastics?”
“Among others. Have you ever met him?”
“No. Have you?”
“Once,” she said. “Would you like to see my Purple Heart? Never mind. The point is, he’s persuaded Diane to go into business with him.”
He sat up straight. “What?”
“He’s quite a panther, you know. To use the most apt cliche, a lady-killer.”
“With Diane?” Hastings’ smile twisted. “I wish him luck.”
“Don’t be too sure. When I asked her about it, her face became a study in scarlet. She admitted she’s authorized him to set up incorporation proceedings for Nuart. She’s planning to go public. Of course, it’s something we should have done before this-I don’t object to incorporating the business. But Villiers is a barracuda, Russ. He’ll swallow her whole. You need a deaf ear and a tough skin to survive his type, and whatever you think of her, she’s not that hard. As soon as she told me about it, I tried to talk her out of it. I used all the artillery I could think of. I told her Mace Villiers is trouble. I told her the business world has been treating him as if he had financial halitosis for good reason. He’s not the type who likes to see people dead-he’s the type who enjoys watching them die.”
The girl’s big dark eyes pressed at him. “She wouldn’t listen to me. I don’t know what he used as a persuader-I have visions of him caressing her erogenous zones like a musician playing on an instrument, that’s the kind he is, but with Mace Villiers there’s always a knife concealed in his palm. Whatever it is, he’s using her. Only she can’t see it. Or she refuses to. Maybe you think of her as a tough bitch, Russ, but where men are concerned she’s la plus grande imbecile de la cite.”
His hand had formed a loose fist. He said, “Why did you come to me, Cynthia? What do you expect me to do about it?”
“You’re a financial cop. You must have files and records on Villiers. Trot them out-show her his record. Prove to her what a bastard he really is.”
He laughed ironically. Cynthia said, “I’m scared, lover. Not just for Diane-for me too. I’ve got a big stake in the business, and I have visions of the whole thing being flushed down the tubes. But mainly I hate seeing my best friend offer herself on the chopping block. I was hoping you still had enough feeling for her to help me get her out of this mess.”
“Even if I did,” he said, “I doubt I could even get an audience with her.”
“You don’t have to hold hands with her, dahling. Of course she’ll see you. She’s not vindictive. Maybe you don’t realize how broken up she was when you left her. Shit, I’m not saying she wants you back, Russ, but she doesn’t hate your guts.”
“Cynthia, what the hell could I say to her? She’d suspect my motives the instant I said an unkind word about him.”
“That would be childish. She’s not a fool-oh, hell, I take that back. Where he’s concerned, she’s a fool. But don’t you see that’s why somebody has to talk her out of it? God knows what he’s got in mind, but his touch has always been the kiss of death to any business he got involved with. He’ll destroy her if somebody doesn’t pry her out of it in time.” She flung her arms wide and demanded, “Don’t you believe he intends to gut Nuart the way he’s gutted everything else?”
“It’s my job not to believe anything too quickly,” he said. But he was frowning darkly. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll nose around in our files and let you know what I find. You can put it up to her yourself.”
“She wouldn’t take it, coming from me. She knows I hate his guts.”
“Why?”
“Call it postcoital depression,” she said. “It was a long time ago, and I’d rather forget it. In fact, I did forget it for a while. When I first learned she was seeing him, I encouraged it. I thought he’d be good for her. She needs a man strong enough to bring her to heel. But as soon as I found out what he was up to, I got wise. Nuart is a dollar bill to him. Wherever there are two people and one dollar, there’s going to be a fight to see who gets the dollar. It’s always been that way with him. I’m scared to death, Russ. You’ve got to do something.”
“We’ll see,” he said.
Brian Garfield
Villiers Touch
14. Steve Wyatt
The bullpen vibrated with a racket of phones and calculators and voices. Wyatt completed a call and glanced toward the secretary’s railing. Anne had been absent from her desk all afternoon, taking dictation in the old man’s office. He looked at his watch and leaned back in his swivel chair for a stretch.
The big room was filled with well-dressed young men, all cut from the same bolt, all imbued with the pep talk they’d received when, after the tough seven-month training drill, they had achieved the exalted nirvana of status-analyst, Account Executive: “Remember, gentlemen, from now on you’re on your own. When you pick up that telephone, you are Bierce, Claiborne amp; Myers.” They were earnest, they knew the vocabulary, they knew everything from capital-gains taxation to corporation finance, they kept up with the required reading-financial pages, trade journals, tip sheets. They spent three-quarters of every working day on the phone, yet they had to know how to be discreet at all times.
He had to laugh.
The jangling phone cut off his ramble; he reached for it. “Bierce, Claiborne amp; Myers, Wyatt speaking.”
The caller identified himself and asked a question. Wyatt turned, bored, to run a finger down his note sheets. “It’s quoted forty-five to forty-six bid and asked, CTM. Anything else right now?”
Getting a negative answer, he said good-bye, and looked toward the door beyond the railing. She was just coming in sight; she sat down, watching him with silent adoration.
He took her to Le Manoir for dinner. Afterward they window-shopped hand in hand along Fifth Avenue. He slipped the Jensen case out of his pocket and gave her the silver necklace, and she flung her arms around him and kissed him under the streetlight on the corner by St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
He took her home to his apartment. When he closed the door, she moved against him and flicked her tongue against his, wheeled across the room in a gay dance, and stopped by the mirror to fit the necklace around her pretty throat. “How do I look?”
“Delicious.”
“Steve, there’s never been anybody but you and me.”
He smiled and ran his fingertips up her arms very softly, feeling her shudder. Her eyes were half-closed; she began to lose her breath.
A full-length mirror hung on the back of the closet door. He twisted the door open, held it at the right angle, and stepped back toward the bed to test it.
He went into the kitchen to make drinks; dropped the liquid contents of a chloral hydrate sleeping capsule in her glass and delivered it to her; adjusted lamps and the record player, and came to her by the bed. He kissed the tip of her nose, and clicked glasses with her, said, “Bottoms up,” and watched critically while she swallowed half the drink.
She smiled her warm, loving smile. When he reached around her to undo the back of her dress, she put the glass down and watched the dress fall in a pool around her ankles, and stepped out of it. “Can’t we go on like this forever?” she breathed. “Oh, my darling, I never thought it could ever-”
“I love you, Anne.”
“Always-always. We’ll have eight kids. No, we won’t have any, they take too much time, and there’s no time for anything but this you and me, darling… Do you love my breasts, darling?”