Read Online Counterpoint by John Day - Free Book Online Page B

all behind
and I don’t want it, ever again.”
    She left the room sobbing and went to
her bedroom, alone.
    Max made a drink for himself and went
to his room; he was so sad, and dreaded what might happen in the
morning.
    Maria woke him the next morning with
breakfast on the balcony.
    He asked if she had seen Carla yet.
“Yes, she said, but she is in a strange mood.”
    Max thought she wanted to add
something, a clue as to what might be the best thing to do in the
circumstances, but she said no more.
    After showering and dressing, Max found
Carla wandering about the garden. She turned as he approached and
said, “The time has come to move on Max, I cannot go through that
scene again, I will not be treated as a tart ever again.”
    “Where does that leave us?” His stomach
felt sick with dread. “That is the problem, she replied. I think I
love you, I don’t know why, but I feel safe and relaxed with you. I
am not competing with you, and you don’t judge me. I must trust you
even more than the Duke, because my emotions are in your hands. You
have made me vulnerable to my feelings and I can’t bear the idea of
being away from you.”
    “To the outside world we could appear
as colleagues,” suggested Max hopefully.
    “Perhaps, we shall have to see!”
    A phone rang in the lounge, ending the
conversation and leaving the problem unresolved. Carla ran and
answered it. A few minutes later, she reappeared, announcing the
Duke wanted to see them both immediately.

Chapter - The visitor.
    After the call to
Carla, the Duke prepared his desk to receive a visitor he had not
seen for nearly six years, though he had spoken to him on many
occasions recently. It appeared a serious problem had developed, in
a joint project called Oracle . It had the potential, to
change the course of history and the future of humankind,
forever.
    Philippe was shown into the Duke’s
office, a room about six metres square with beech panels on three
walls. The panels were identical, and some were doors leading to
adjacent offices or exits. The Duke chose which should open from
his desk, or for those who were familiar with the room, a small
button could be used next to the door panel.
    The ceiling was a grid of light panels
spreading even illumination to every corner, the floor was polished
marble, gleaming clean and clinical in the light. The Duke’s desk
was a broad, leather topped, beech executive type, with padded
leather Captain’s chair on castors, to complement it. A white
telephone and sheaves of documents ready for signing were placed
neatly on one side of the desk.
    Behind the Duke was a bookcase, wall to
wall, floor to ceiling with leather bound volumes covering many
subjects, including law and tax.
    On opposite walls at the ends of the
desk were two portraits, one of his late wife, Lana and the other
of Carla. Both portraits showed blonds of a similar age, with long
hair in loose curls and blue eyes. The faces were of a similar type
as well, beautiful, balanced and smiling, but the mouth and eye
expression were quite different. Lana had soft, loving eyes, and
full sensual mouth; Carla had bright, intense eyes and a
mischievous mouth.
    The Duke offered Philippe a chair, but
he declined, the matter was urgent and he was in no mood for
pleasantries. As the Duke leaned back in his chair, Philippe leaned
forward, palms pressed firmly on the desktop.
    “What, may I ask, has happened to you?”
Asked the Duke, referring to the large swath of bandages, covering
the left side of Philippe’s face.
    “I was involved in a car crash caused
by a bitch that not only ripped off €2,000,000 of Marco’s product
and money but also stole Project Oracle.”
    The Duke’s face tensed and his eyes
bored into Philippe’s eyes searching for more of the story.
Philippe withered under the scrutiny, feeling foolish at having to
acknowledge the loss at the hands of a woman.
    Straightening up, he looked away to one
side seeking composure. Philippe looked briefly