Hat Trick Read online

  “Oh, yes, I’m afraid so.” Her smile, neither sweet nor charming, instead sent cold chills down his spine. “Oodles of old money on my side, remember? And a pre-nup agreement signed by you, on your side, remember? If we split up, you get nothing, remember?”

  “I remember,” he answered in a low, hoarse voice.

  “Good.” Using one red-taloned finger to stroke from his sideburn to his chin, she widened her smile. “We both understand how much you enjoy all the amenities of our lifestyle, do we not? The tailored suits, the lovely cars, this house and our boat and frequent exotic travel and—oh, so many other things…”

  “I have a job that pays—”

  “Not nearly enough to support such very expensive habits, darling. So kindly don’t try using any threats toward me. Because I, and I alone, will be the one making any decisions about our future. You’re my husband, Jefferson. Mine. And you won’t be free unless and until I decide to let you go.”

  Chapter Four

  “Jeff.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Um—no, never mind, you’re busy. I’ll talk to you later, when you have some free time.”

  “Patty.” Patiently, he put aside a client’s investment portfolio and looked up. “When have I ever not had free time for you, if you need it? What’s up?”

  Nervously she sidled into his office, perched on the very edge of the seat he indicated, and smoothed her skirt. “Um. How was your weekend?”

  He thought of the past two days of stomach-churning hours filled with frenetic, make-do activity. And the restless nighttime hours, haunted by dreams of what wasn’t and what might have been. “Okay, thanks. And yours?”

  “Busy. Very busy. Church yesterday, of course; both kids were singing in the choir. And on Saturday Hank took me out for a lovely dinner to a really fancy restaurant—Le Gran Chateau.”

  “Nice. I’ve heard of the place. Special occasion?”

  Apparently she was fighting through some crisis, bolstering her courage and paving the way with small talk until the actual subject could be broached. After years of working together in the same office, Jeff was well-used to her thinking and doing. He could wait for her to open up on her own.

  “Not unless he’s created some new one that I don’t know about.” Patty grinned companionably. “No, he said he was just taking me out because I work hard and I deserved to get away. You gotta love a guy like that.”

  “I guess so.”

  The beam on her face suddenly darkened perceptibly. “Jeff…”

  With a soft sigh, he sent a mental plea to the gods for some quick resolution. “Yes, Patty.”

  “We were at this really fancy restaurant Saturday night—”

  “I know. You told me.”

  “And—well—here.” Lips suddenly tightened, she handed over her cell phone, its inner workings all ready to view on the camera setting.

  Apprehensively he glanced down. The first photo, taken in living color, of course, showed an Annajane Quinley resplendent in diamonds and white silk, cuddled up in a hideaway velvet booth beside a man whose face was turned away. In the second photo, her escort’s identity was blurred as he had half-risen, probably to signal a waiter. The third and final photo told all: she was twined into his arms, sinuous as some sapphire-eyed serpent, for a passionate kiss with—none other than Roger Kendricks.

  Jeff drew in a sharp breath with a little hissing sound, not unlike a serpent himself.

  Feeling suddenly a little frightened by the forces she had unleashed, Patty made an involuntary movement toward her boss. “Jeff—”

  He looked up again, his face transformed: every line set in granite, every vein leached of blood. “Yes?”

  “Jeff, I—I’m so sorry! But when I saw her there, with him, with someone I didn’t know, and treating him like—well, I’m not sure. But I felt I should tell you. That you ought to know what was—what was going on.”

  “Thank you, Patty.” Giving no hint of any other reaction—of the heartbeat hammering in his ears, or the pulses doubled up in tempo, or the churning in his middle like rock-the-boat seasickness—he returned the cell phone to her. “I appreciate your consideration.”

  Wishing now that she had never taken this final, irrevocable step, she swallowed hard. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten—”

  “Yes. Yes, you should have. And, you’re right; I ought to know what’s going on.”

  “Any thought as to what you’ll do?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Do? Why, I think I’d better get back to this portfolio. My client expects a call soon, and I haven’t finished going over the figures he’s asked about.”

  Embarrassed color flooded her cheeks. “Again, Jeff, I apologize. That was way out of line, and none of my business, anyway. Please forget I said anything. I was just—well, I worry about you.” Hastily rising, she began to back out of the office. It would have been more fitting had she slithered out on her belly, like the reptilian creature she was feeling akin to.

  “Patty.” He had risen, too, and crossed the room to place one supportive hand on her shoulder. “Please don’t blame yourself for any of this. We have a great relationship here, and I’d like to keep it that way. Okay?”

  She managed to collect enough saliva for a mumbled, “Okay,” before slipping away.

  The gloves are off now, Jeff reflected bitterly, returning to his desk to contemplate the preceding scene in silence. In his mind’s eye he saw every detail of those damning pictures: the chilling conceit and chutzpah of such a public display, the elegance whose total cost he could just about calculate to the nearest dollar, the slender golden flesh he had once taken to bed so often and with such vigor.

  This was a deliberate slap in the face. She was daring someone to report on her outrageous behavior. As if, living by her own rules, she just didn’t care about those anyone else might set down. Was she hoping he would confront her again, in order to put into motion the beginning of the end?

  When and where had things gone so wrong?

  Their first year together—well, most of it, anyway; well, some of it—he remembered as a harmonious time. Traveling wherever she might have desired; searching for, finding, and decorating the perfect dwelling place she had decided upon; socializing with friends of her circle and choosing; enjoying, for the main, each other’s company.

  After that, with an MBA and plenty of customer contacts under his belt, he had signed on with Thomas Yates and begun building his business. Learning so much about financial management, dealing with clients, choosing which program would serve each potential consumer best, had taken up a goodly percent of his time and energy. Eventually, Annajane, left too often to her own devices, had given up her lectures about his attending this or that “must-be-there” function and arranged her own transportation. And escort.

  Somewhere in there, they had begun drifting apart. Like two ships passing in the night, each patronized his or her own interests to the detriment of the other.

  No marriage can easily survive such estrangement. They might as well be separated.

  Oddly enough, it hadn’t been until this past month or so, when Miss Olivia Bower had re-entered his life that he had begun to question exactly what he didn’t have and what he wanted.

  With a decisive nod, Jeff pulled the telephone closer, picked up the receiver, and punched in a number.

  Olivia was seated at the drafting table in her home office, sketching out a few new designs for a Christmas collection of flirty holiday chapeaus, when the telephone rang. Her main business address of 100 Mission Road, which she had turned over to Jeff with the transfer of accounts, was located in the city itself. There she maintained a humble first floor warehouse that housed not only her primary office but also workspace for employees and their equipment, storage space for materials, and modest space for a shipping and receiving department.

  So far, she and a part-time admin had been able to handle incoming and outgoing work orders, marketing, bookkeeping, and all the other thousand
and one details that must be taken care of in a small fledgling business. As her contacts and reputation were growing exponentially, however, she could see that a transition would have to be made in the near future. Either more area must be acquired here, allowing JustLivvie’s to branch out and stretch out, or another, larger warehouse must be found in the vicinity.

  The prospect was frightening and exciting, stomach-curdling and skin-tingling, all at once.

  Today Olivia had decided to work at home, for various reasons, and she’d been making great headway—pardon the pun—until the phone’s chime interrupted.

  Putting aside the several sharpened colored pencils to pick up her cell, she answered. “Oh, hi, Mom. Yes, I’m doubling down on a project right now, but that’s okay. How’s everything out your way?”

  Her mother, reassured, spent the next few minutes catching up her daughter on local news. Both of Ran’s kids, away at summer camp, had wandered off from the main group and gotten into a patch of poison ivy, the little devils. Of course it wasn’t life-threatening, but they were miserable enough to demand early release. Charlie’s wedding plans were moving along, although his fiancé was in a tizzy over the possible delayed shipment of two bridesmaids’ dresses. Nothing out of the ordinary happening with Jason, and then there was Austin. But you know Austin.

  “Yes, Mom,” Olivia agreed comfortably. “I know Austin. Coasting, right? And Dad’s about tearing his hair out, wondering why the boy hasn’t graduated yet.” Leaning back in her chair, she stretched out one bare foot to tickle the top of Bruno’s ears. He was, as usual, piled up in a heap as close to her as possible, and snoring to beat the band. “Are you feeling all right?”

  Just last winter, a sudden crisis with Dorothy Bower’s health had sent ricochets of alarm reverberating through the family. Vague, disturbing symptoms had taken doctors some time to pin down, until finally a rheumatologist had determined the cause to be something called fibromyalgia.

  So far she had been able to cope, mostly by taking better care of herself after a lifetime of taking care of others while neglecting her own well-being. Plenty of rest, mild exercise, massage therapy, and pain medication when necessary had been giving her some relief from the overwhelming fatigue and the intense discomfort of burning muscles and excruciatingly tender pressure points. She had once described the disease as having come down with a really bad case of flu. All over. Continuous, non-stop, burning aches.

  “I’m doing okay, honey. This dry, sunny weather helps. You know I tend to get creaky when a low pressure system moves in, and everything is drowned in rain. Just an old woman.”

  Olivia joined in her mother’s laughter. “Ha. You’ll never be old. You’re having too much fun chasing after those grandkids, and nagging everybody to produce more. And Dad?”

  Martin, too, was in great shape, physically and mentally. A dedicated brisk walker, he had persuaded his wife to join him in enjoying the benefits of a hale and hearty lifestyle, when she was able. Nothing more serious than extra gray hair and some added lines had afflicted him lately. A recent promotion at the Falkirk engineering firm, where he worked, had made for increased responsibility but less hands’-on endeavor, and he wasn’t sure he was liking it.

  “But I didn’t call to yap about us, Liv. Just wanted to check in on my favorite daughter to see how she’s getting along.”

  “Favorite,” Olivia hooted. “Uh-huh. Guess I’d have to be, wouldn’t I?”

  Thus it was time for her personal update, as to what she’d been up to during the past month or so. She described her satisfactory meeting with Jeff Quinley, their discussion and resolution of her account transfer, even the picnic supper and park visit that had been both delightful and upsetting.

  Mrs. Bower tended to swing toward the latter, and anxiety creased her tone, just as, Olivia felt positive, anxiety was creasing her concerned face. “Livvie, Livvie. I understand what you’re thinking, and the plan you have in mind. But is this wise?”

  “I’m not sure, Mom.” Pensive, she leaned forward to rest one elbow on the table. “I’m not pushing anything. I’m just letting things go forward and happen naturally. His wife—”

  “Aye, there’s the rub,” murmured Dorothy, with no hint of irony.

  “He’s definitely unhappy with Mrs. Annajane Merrill Quinley. And I had the pleasure of meeting Her Royal Highness, who treated me like something Bruno threw up on the floor. She probably treats Jeff the same way.”

  “Too much sympathy for him on your part, Liv. Where and how often have I heard that phrase before? My wife isn’t nice to me. Boo hoo. Poor baby.”

  “Yes, I know. Certainly he has to get a handle on his marital problems, and work things out. If he were happily married, I might not consider moving forward with what I hope to accomplish. But, since he obviously isn’t…”

  The sound of a heavy sigh came over the line. “More and more, honey, you’ve been heading toward taking this action. It probably is what has to be done, for everyone’s sake. And you know that your dad and I are behind you, whatever you do. There’s a tremendous amount of money involved, isn’t there?”

  “Yes, and much of it rightfully mine,” said Olivia sharply. “For all my current and future needs. That’s only fair, you would agree?”

  “Well…if you’re counting on some sort of settlement, definitely yes. But didn’t you tell us that it was his wife who actually owns the estate, that she’s the one who handles the purse strings?”

  “I did, and that’s true, so far as I know. But he owes me, Mom. He owes me.”

  Dorothy could hear the exasperation building in her daughter’s voice, and spoke soothingly in return. “I certainly agree. I just don’t want you to be too disappointed if things don’t work out as you hope. Maybe I’m worrying unnecessarily, but there’s just such a strong probability of hurt and anger for so many people, all the way around, if you continue.”

  Yes, and the strong probability of grave repercussions. Which was the reason she had held part of herself separate, in all her talks with Jeff. Her financial records, set up with Jeff’s office, included business transactions only. Her personal records—household information, expenses and income, incidentals—were off-limit. He didn’t even know about Bruno. There were some details of her private life that, for the time being, must simply be kept private.

  “Okay, okay. You’re right, it’s possible I’m playing with fire.” Pausing, Olivia absently scribbled a doodle on some extra scrap of white cardstock. “But I don’t see what else I can do, Mom. This needs to be taken care of now. In fact, it’s way past time. Don’t you see?”

  “I do see, Livvie,” agreed her mother gently. “It’s just too hard for me to forget your first experience with Jeff Quinley. It was devastating, but we picked up the pieces and went on. I simply don’t want you falling in love with him again, only to have the same thing happen. That is—” she paused, suddenly both uncertain and wary, “—if you haven’t already, sweetheart. Have you?”

  The painful swallow of a hard lump of reality was audible over the line. “Mom,” said Olivia softly, “I never stopped.”

  A jerky sigh that was almost as painful as the swallow. Finally, “If he breaks your heart once more, then I will have no choice but to grab your brother’s handgun, hunt the man down, and kill him dead myself.”

  Serious though the subject was, Olivia managed to chuckle at the image of Dorothy Bower as Miss Sure-Shot Annie Oakley, with a rifle in her hand and murder in her eye. Yet she felt warmed and sheltered by the fierce loyalty given by all her family members, each to the other.

  “Not to worry, Mom. I don’t think it’ll reach that point. One thing’s sure, Dad probably wouldn’t be too happy about the bad publicity.”

  “Or the bond money he’d have to come up with,” her mother said tersely. “Now, tell me all about every other detail in your life right now. The important ones. I need to hear the latest.”

  The days dragged by. Past a hot and humid end-of-June, past a low and l
usterless (in Jeff’s opinion) Fourth of July, into the dull and deadly doldrums of summer, when everyone with any sense—and plenty of financial resources, in these troubling times—took to a getaway into the Hamptons, or the Catskills, or a crisp and cooling sea voyage.

  Those were, of course, the ultra-privileged, who worried more about how much might be needed to buy their favorite congressperson than whether poor children were being starved of food and health care.

  Meanwhile, shock waves from the Great Recession continued to roll in and over, inundating those who could least afford the crash. Jeff was working feverishly to keep his clients afloat, moving their investments to whichever funds were the most profitable while at the same time being the most risk-aversive, consulting with market mavens, delving into every financial periodical that might offer practical advice and help.

  He had telephoned Olivia several times. Once was for the usual follow-up always implemented for his clients, whether new or established, to ensure that their nest egg properties were performing as expected, that all was currently well in their small kingdoms.

  Yes, she had assured him, things were fine, and thank you for the call.

  She had sounded busy and distracted, with noise in the background, and a number of people talking over each other, with one in particular seeking her attention. So he had kept his part of the conversation short and sweet.

  The second time he called was merely to hear her voice. Independence Day celebrations had come and gone, without his participation as the parades had marched along and the fireworks had exploded brilliantly and colorfully overhead. He was feeling a trifle lonely and much put upon by continuing pressures at work and at home.

  She was, she explained then, hanging out back home in Falkirk for the holiday. Her parents had planned a picnic to welcome her for a brief visit, and three of her brothers, the entourages of each, and a number of neighbors were attending. Right now, someone had decided to cut open a giant watermelon for the ever-growing group, enticing people to line up with plates in hand.