to wonder at the
depth of her grief for Wheeler if her mind was on property
rights.
It occurred to me that Wheeler had probably owned shares
in the company, and I remembered what my father had said of
Stonehall Enterprises. On the verge of bankruptcy, the Steins had
brought in another investor, an idea man. If that investor was Slade
Wheeler, Wheeler's interest in the company had to have been
substantial.
When Grace's sobs began to subside, Kennedy jerked his
head toward the open door. "Hop it, Artie. We'll take Grace
home."
Artie slunk out. We heard the motorcycle cough to life and
roar off.
Maeve helped Grace to her feet, made an imperious gesture
to her own escort, and led the girl toward the door. Kennedy
followed without protest.
As they passed her, Barbara said, "We'll wait dinner for you,
Maeve."
Maeve frowned. "We'll be some time."
"That's okay." Barbara's intense brown eyes glinted. "I want
to know Grace will be all right. And whether she needs money for a
solicitor."
Maeve smiled. "Very well. Thanks. I'll phone if we're running
too late."
Grace's departure, with Maeve holding one arm and
Kennedy the other, let loose a burst of conversation. I moved to my
father's side.
He looked well enough, if a trifle distracted. "Ah, Lark, do
you remember Tracy Aspin?"
I admitted I didn't, and he introduced us. Tracy offered her
hand and shook briskly. Crisp and cheerful, she wore her hair in a
short crop that suggested an eye for style as well as
convenience.
"Gosh, what a scene!" Tracy's shrewd hazel stare was bright
with interest. "I didn't know Slade had it in him."
The dark man at her elbow gave a snort of amusement. "You
can say that again. I'm Mike Novak, by the way. Sorry I yelled at you
over the phone yesterday, Mrs. Dodge. We had a crisis. We always
have crises, though maybe not so many now Wheeler's out of the
picture." He had the wisp of a beard and a malicious glint in his
eyes.
"Mike!" Tracy made a face at him, and so did Barbara.
He flushed. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to pretend I liked
Slade. He was a jerk."
Alex said, "He understood fiscal responsibility."
"And I don't?"
"No," Barbara said without heat. "You don't. Nobody expects
you to."
"What do you mean nobody? Slade was always in my face.
The sucker counted my fucking paper clips."
The quiet man standing beside him sipped red wine.
"Wheeler was a boor and a bully, friends." He raised the glass and
took another swallow. "Bad cess to him." He was Irish in his speech.
Liam McDiarmuid, I deduced, though nobody introduced us. He was
older than Novak and the Steins, in his mid-thirties, perhaps. I
thought it was he who had said Grace's name.
Tracy said, "He didn't understand artists."
"He didn't understand people," McDiarmuid shot back. As if
he had spoken with too much heat, he added in milder tones, "That
business about smoking in the workroom, now."
"Smoking is an unhealthy habit," Barbara said firmly. "I was
in full agreement with Slade on that point."
McDiarmuid heaved an elaborate sigh. "We know Stonehall
is an American firm, and we know Americans are puritans—"
"Hey!"
"Come on, Lee."
"Puritans?"
His mouth twitched at the corners. "Puritans," he repeated.
"Sure, it's a wonder you allow demon rum in the house, leave alone
the vile weed. It could be worse. If you were Japanese, I daresay we'd
have to do physical jerks on the parapet first thing in the
morning."
Everyone laughed.
McDiarmuid cocked his head. "I don't smoke myself, as you
know, but the data processors are smokers, to a woman, and their
productivity sank like a stone the day your man told them no more
fags on the job. 'Twasn't so much the idea, mind you, as the way he
laid down the law. He gave them a lecture, and two of them old
enough to be his mother. It's a miracle they didn't call in the labour
council."
Novak groaned. "Or strike. A strike is just what we need
with the baroque disk in production." He turned to me and his eyes
lit with manic fire. "It's a
depth of her grief for Wheeler if her mind was on property
rights.
It occurred to me that Wheeler had probably owned shares
in the company, and I remembered what my father had said of
Stonehall Enterprises. On the verge of bankruptcy, the Steins had
brought in another investor, an idea man. If that investor was Slade
Wheeler, Wheeler's interest in the company had to have been
substantial.
When Grace's sobs began to subside, Kennedy jerked his
head toward the open door. "Hop it, Artie. We'll take Grace
home."
Artie slunk out. We heard the motorcycle cough to life and
roar off.
Maeve helped Grace to her feet, made an imperious gesture
to her own escort, and led the girl toward the door. Kennedy
followed without protest.
As they passed her, Barbara said, "We'll wait dinner for you,
Maeve."
Maeve frowned. "We'll be some time."
"That's okay." Barbara's intense brown eyes glinted. "I want
to know Grace will be all right. And whether she needs money for a
solicitor."
Maeve smiled. "Very well. Thanks. I'll phone if we're running
too late."
Grace's departure, with Maeve holding one arm and
Kennedy the other, let loose a burst of conversation. I moved to my
father's side.
He looked well enough, if a trifle distracted. "Ah, Lark, do
you remember Tracy Aspin?"
I admitted I didn't, and he introduced us. Tracy offered her
hand and shook briskly. Crisp and cheerful, she wore her hair in a
short crop that suggested an eye for style as well as
convenience.
"Gosh, what a scene!" Tracy's shrewd hazel stare was bright
with interest. "I didn't know Slade had it in him."
The dark man at her elbow gave a snort of amusement. "You
can say that again. I'm Mike Novak, by the way. Sorry I yelled at you
over the phone yesterday, Mrs. Dodge. We had a crisis. We always
have crises, though maybe not so many now Wheeler's out of the
picture." He had the wisp of a beard and a malicious glint in his
eyes.
"Mike!" Tracy made a face at him, and so did Barbara.
He flushed. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to pretend I liked
Slade. He was a jerk."
Alex said, "He understood fiscal responsibility."
"And I don't?"
"No," Barbara said without heat. "You don't. Nobody expects
you to."
"What do you mean nobody? Slade was always in my face.
The sucker counted my fucking paper clips."
The quiet man standing beside him sipped red wine.
"Wheeler was a boor and a bully, friends." He raised the glass and
took another swallow. "Bad cess to him." He was Irish in his speech.
Liam McDiarmuid, I deduced, though nobody introduced us. He was
older than Novak and the Steins, in his mid-thirties, perhaps. I
thought it was he who had said Grace's name.
Tracy said, "He didn't understand artists."
"He didn't understand people," McDiarmuid shot back. As if
he had spoken with too much heat, he added in milder tones, "That
business about smoking in the workroom, now."
"Smoking is an unhealthy habit," Barbara said firmly. "I was
in full agreement with Slade on that point."
McDiarmuid heaved an elaborate sigh. "We know Stonehall
is an American firm, and we know Americans are puritans—"
"Hey!"
"Come on, Lee."
"Puritans?"
His mouth twitched at the corners. "Puritans," he repeated.
"Sure, it's a wonder you allow demon rum in the house, leave alone
the vile weed. It could be worse. If you were Japanese, I daresay we'd
have to do physical jerks on the parapet first thing in the
morning."
Everyone laughed.
McDiarmuid cocked his head. "I don't smoke myself, as you
know, but the data processors are smokers, to a woman, and their
productivity sank like a stone the day your man told them no more
fags on the job. 'Twasn't so much the idea, mind you, as the way he
laid down the law. He gave them a lecture, and two of them old
enough to be his mother. It's a miracle they didn't call in the labour
council."
Novak groaned. "Or strike. A strike is just what we need
with the baroque disk in production." He turned to me and his eyes
lit with manic fire. "It's a
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