51
“THAT’S KEATON DOWN THERE, OFF the starboard wing, Mr. Farrell,” the pilot said as the sleek Learjet slid gracefully out of the cloud cover and began its final approach. “I’m going to make a pass over the airstrip before I set her down, just to make sure it’s in as good a shape as it’s supposed to be.”
Matt reached up and pressed the intercom button. “Fine, Steve,” he said absently, studying his wife’s worried features. “What’s wrong?” he asked Meredith quietly. “I thought I reassured you completely that there’s nothing illegal about delivering a letter that was addressed to Julie Mathison in care of me. The authorities are well aware that I have Zack’s power of attorney to handle his financial affairs. I’ve already turned over the envelope his instructions came in so they can try to trace it. Not that it will help them,” he added with a chuckle. “It’s postmarked from Dallas, where he’s obviously paying someone to receive mail intended for me, remove it from its original envelope, and then forward it on to me.”
Knowing how strongly he felt about what he was doing, Meredith made a better effort to hide her worry and asked, “Why is he doing that if he trusts you so implicitly?”
“He’s doing it so I can freely hand over to the authorities whatever envelopes I receive from him, without giving away his whereabouts. He’s protecting both of us. So you see, I’ve adhered to the strictest letter of the law so far.”
Meredith leaned her head back against the curved white leather sofa that dominated the plane’s cabin and said with a laughing sigh, “No, you haven’t. You did not tell the FBI that he enclosed a letter to Julie Mathison along with his letter to you, and you didn’t tell them you’re delivering it.”
“The letter to her is in a blank, sealed envelope,” he countered lightly. “I have no way of knowing if Zack wrote what’s in it. For all I know it contains recipes. I hope,” he said with mock horror, “you aren’t suggesting that I should open the letter to find out what’s in it. It happens to be a federal offense to do things like that. Furthermore, my love, there is no law that specifically requires me to tip off the authorities every time Zack contacts me.”
Alarmed and unwillingly amused by his bold nonchalance, Meredith tipped her chin down and looked at the handsome man she’d fallen in love with and lost when she was an innocent eighteen-year-old debutante and he was a twenty-five-year-old steel worker. In one short decade, he’d left the mills behind him and built his own financial empire on a foundation of daring, brilliance, and guts. And then he’d reclaimed her. Despite his veneer of smooth sophistication, tailor-made clothes, yachts, and private planes, however, Matt was, and would always be, a street fighter at heart. And she loved him for it. She loved that reckless, forceful streak in him, even though she knew it was the reason he was now ignoring the possible legal consequences of his actions. He believed in Zachary Benedict’s innocence, and that was the only justification he needed for what he chose to do. Period. Even though she knew it was futile and probably unnecessary, she’d insisted on coming along this afternoon, just to make certain he didn’t stick his neck out too far.
“Why are you smiling like that?” he asked her.
“Because I love you,” she admitted wryly. “Now, why are you smiling?”
“Because you love me,” he whispered tenderly, putting his arm around her and nuzzling her neck. “And,” he admitted, “because of this.” From his breast pocket, he took out the letter Zack had written him.
“You said that’s just a list of instructions about Julie Mathison. What’s funny about a list of instructions?”
“That’s what’s funny—a list of instructions. When Zack went to prison he had a fortune in investments spread out all over the world. Do you know how many instructions he gave me when he gave me power of attorney to handle them all?”
“No. How many?”
“One instruction,” he said with a grin, holding up his forefinger. “He said, ‘Try not to bankrupt me.’ ”
Meredith laughed, and Matt glanced out the window as the plane swooped down, racing for the runway, the setting sun glinting off its wings. “Joe’s here with the car,” he said, referring to their chauffeur, who’d flown into Dallas on a commercial flight that morning, rented a nondescript car, and driven it here to meet them. Matt wanted to arrive and depart without anyone knowing they’d been here, which meant they couldn’t call a taxi from the airfield, even if there was a taxi service in Keaton.
* * *
“Any problems, Joe?” he asked as they slid into the back seat of the car.
“Nope,” he replied cheerfully as he slammed down on the accelerator and sent the car barreling down the runway in his habitual race-car driver fashion. “I got here an hour ago and located Julie Mathison’s house. There were a bunch of kids’ bicycles in the front yard.”
Meredith clutched Matt’s arm for balance and rolled her eyes in amused resignation at Joe’s daredevil driving. To distract herself from the gravel flying from beneath the car’s spinning tires as they shot out onto the highway, she picked up their earlier conversation in the plane: “What sort of instructions did Zack give you about Julie Mathison?”
Removing the folded missive from his coat pocket, Matt glanced at the first few lines and said dryly, “Among other things, I am to take careful notice of how she looks and ascertain whether she seems to have lost weight or lost sleep.”
Zack Benedict’s unusual concern for his former hostage registered instantly on Meredith and softened her attitude toward him. “How can you know that by looking at her? You don’t know how she looked before she spent a week with him.”
“I can only assume the stress that Zack has been under has finally worn him down.” Forcing himself not to show how badly he felt about that, Matt continued lightly. “You’re going to love the next item on this list. I am also supposed to discover whether or not she is pregnant.”
“By looking at her?” Meredith exclaimed as Joe slowed and turned onto a tree-lined residential street.
“No, I think I’m supposed to ask her, which is why I’m so delighted you volunteered to come with me. If she denies she’s pregnant, I am to let Zack know whether or not I believe her.”
“Unless she’s used some sort of early pregnancy test, she may not know that herself. It’s only been three weeks since she left him in Colorado.” Meredith pulled on her gloves as Joe O’Hara brought the car to a teeth-jarring stop in front of a neat one-story ranch-style house where little boys were getting on their bicycles and pedaling away. “To be this concerned, he must feel very deeply about her, Matt.”
“What he feels is guilt,” Matt predicted flatly, getting out of the car, “and responsibility. Zack always took his responsibilities very seriously.” As they started up the sidewalk, two little boys in wheelchairs came shooting out the side door and down a ramp onto the driveway, howling with laughter, with a pretty young woman in hot pursuit. “Johnny!” die called, laughing too as she raced after the child, “give that back!” The boy called Johnny executed a nifty wheelie on the driveway, waving a spiral-bound notebook in the air, keeping it just out of her reach, while his companion neatly used his own wheelchair to run interference for him. Matt and Meredith stopped, watching the exuberant interplay as a laughing Julie Mathison tried unsuccessfully to outmaneuver the boys’ joint defense.
“All right,” Julie called, plunking her fists on her hips, unaware of her adult visitors, “you win, you monsters! No quiz tomorrow. Now give back my grade book.” With a triumphant shout, Johnny handed over the book. “Thank you,” Julie said, taking it and affectionately yanking his knit cap down over his ears and eyes while he laughed and shoved it up. She bent down in front of the other grinning boy and zipped his jacket up under his chin, then she rumpled his red hair. “You’re getting awfully good with those blocking maneuvers, Tim. Don’t forget them in the game next Saturday, okay?”
“Okay, Miss Mathison.”
Julie turned to watch them wheel off down the driv
eway, and that was when she saw the well-dressed couple standing near the curb in front of her house. They started forward, and Julie wrapped her arms around herself in the chilly wind, smiling politely as she waited for them, thinking that they both looked vaguely familiar in the deepening twilight.
“Miss Mathison,” the man said, returning her smile with one of his own, “I’m Matthew Farrell, and this is my wife, Meredith.” At close range, Meredith Farrell was as beautiful as her husband was handsome, as blond as he was dark, and her smile was just as warm as his.
“Are you alone?” he asked, glancing toward the house.
Julie stiffened with alarmed suspicion. “Are you reporters? Because if you are, I’ve—”
“I’m a friend of Zack’s,” he interrupted quietly.
Julie’s heart slammed into her ribs. “Please,” she said quickly, reeling with shock and excitement, “come inside.”
She took them in the back door, through her kitchen where copper pots and pans hung from pegs on the wall and into the living room.
“This is very pretty,” Meredith Farrell said, relinquishing her coat and looking around at the airy room with its white wicker furniture, bright green and blue plaid pillows, and potted trees and plants thriving in the corners.
Julie tried to smile, but as she took Matt’s coat, she blurted desperately, “Is Zack all right?”
“As far as I know, he’s fine.”
She relaxed a little, but it was hard to be a polite hostess when all she wanted to know was why they’d come, and at the same time she wanted desperately to prolong their visit because Matt Farrell was his friend, and in a way, that brought Zack right here, into her house. “Would you like a glass of wine or some coffee?” she asked over her shoulder as she hung their coats in her front closet and they sat down on the sofa.
“Coffee would be lovely,” the woman said, and her husband nodded.
Julie made coffee in record time, put cups and saucers on a tray, and returned to the living room so quickly that both her guests smiled at her, as if they understood and appreciated her dilemma. “I’m awfully nervous for some reason,” she admitted with a choked laugh, putting the tray on the table in front of them and rubbing her palms against her thighs. “But I’m . . . I’m very glad you’ve come. I’ll get the coffee as soon as it’s ready.”
“You weren’t a bit nervous,” Matt Farrell remarked admiringly, “when you confronted the world on television and tried, very successfully, I think, to sway them into Zack’s corner.”
The warmth in his eyes and voice made her feel as if she’d done something wonderful and courageous. “I hope all Zack’s friends feel that way.”
“Zack doesn’t have many friends anymore,” he said flatly. “On the other hand,” he added with a slight smile, “with a champion like you behind him, he doesn’t need many friends.”
“How long have you known him?” Julie asked as she sat down in a chair at right angles to the sofa.
“Meredith has never met him, but I’ve known him for eight years. We were neighbors in California, in Carmel.” Matt watched her lean slightly forward, her attention riveted on him, and sensing her wish to learn everything she possibly could from him, he added, “We were also limited partners in several business ventures. When he went to prison, Zack entrusted me with his power of attorney, which gave me the right and responsibility to handle all his financial affairs.”
“It’s wonderful of you to take all that on,” she said graciously, and Matt caught his first glimpse of the rare, unaffected warmth she must have shown to Zack when he most needed it in Colorado. “He must like and respect you very much to trust you so completely.”
“We feel the same way about each other,” he replied awkwardly, wishing there were some way to ease into the purpose for his visit.
“And that’s why you came here from California—” she suggested helpfully, “because as Zack’s friend, you wanted me to know you approved of what I said during the press conference?”
Matt shook his head, stalling by digressing to minor details. “We only vacation in Carmel now,” he explained. “Our permanent residence is Chicago.”
“I think I’d prefer Carmel, although I’ve never been there,” she responded, following his lead and switching to polite small talk.
“We live in Chicago because Meredith is president of Bancroft & Company, which is headquartered there.”
“Bancroft’s!” Julie exclaimed, impressed by the mention of the elite department store chain and smiling at Meredith. “I’ve been to your Dallas store and it’s wonderful,” she said, refraining from saying it was also much too expensive for her. Standing up, she said, “I’ll get the coffee, it should be ready by now.”
When she left, Meredith touched her husband’s sleeve and said softly, “She’s already sensed that you’ve come here for a purpose, and the longer you delay, the more nervous you’ll make her.”
“I’m not exactly eager to get down to business,” Matt admitted. “I’ve come a thousand miles at Zack’s request to ask her bluntly if she’s pregnant and pay her off with his check. You tell me a subtle way to say, ‘Miss Mathison, I’ve brought you a check for a quarter of a million dollars because Zack is afraid you’re pregnant and because he feels guilty about it and because he wants you to pay a lawyer to hold off the press and the legal authorities.’ ”
She started to suggest a more obvious and more tactful way to go about it, but before she could speak, Julie returned with a china coffeepot and began filling their cups.
Matt cleared his throat and began in a blunt, awkward voice, “Miss Mathison—”
“Please call me Julie,” she interrupted, straightening, automatically tensing at his tone.
“Julie,” he agreed with a slight, grim smile, “I haven’t actually come here because of your press conference. I’m here because Zack asked me to come and see you.”
Her face lit up like sunshine bursting out of the clouds. “He—he did? Did he tell you why?”
“He wants me to find out if you’re pregnant.”
Julie knew she wasn’t, and she was so startled and embarrassed by the unexpected topic that she started to shake her head in denial before Meredith came to her rescue. “Matt has a letter to give you that will probably do a much better job of explaining all this than my flustered husband is doing,” she said gently.
Julie watched him reach into an inside pocket of his sport jacket and extract an envelope. Feeling as if the world was beginning to spin and tilt around her, she took it from his outstretched hand and said shakily, “Would you mind if I read this letter now—in private?”
“Not at all. We’ll enjoy our coffee while you do.”
Julie nodded and turned. Quickly opening the envelope with her thumb, she started out of the living room, intending to go to her room, but the dining room was closer so she went there instead, neither caring nor realizing she was still partially in view of her guests. She braced herself for another condescending lecture from Zack about the infantile absurdity of giving any importance to their relationship in Colorado, but when she unfolded the pages and began to read, the tenderness and joy that exploded in her heart healed all her wounds. The world fell away and all that existed for her was the unbelievable words she was reading and the incredible man who had written them to her without ever intending for her to see them . . . .
My darling Julie, I know you’ll never see this letter, but it helps to write to you every day. It keeps you close to me. God, I miss you so. You haunt every hour of my life. I wish I’d never met you. No—I don’t mean that! What good would my life be without my memories of you to make me smile.
I keep wondering if you’re happy. I want you to be. I want you to have a glorious life. That’s why I couldn’t say the things I knew you wanted to hear when we were together. I was afraid if I did, you’d wait for me for years. I knew you wanted me to say I loved you. Not saying that to you was the only unselfish thing I did in Colorado, and now I regret even t
hat.
I love you, Julie. Christ, I love you so much.
I’d give up all my life to have one year with you. Six months. Three. Anything.
You stole my heart in just a few days, darling, but you gave me your heart, too. I know you did—I could see it in your eyes every time you looked at me.
I don’t regret the loss of my freedom any more or rage at the injustice of the years I spent in prison. Now, my only regret is that I can’t have you. You’re young, and I know you’ll forget about me quickly and go on with your own life. That’s exactly what you should do. It’s what you must do. I want you to do that, Julie.
That’s such a lousy lie. What I really want is to see you again, to hold you in my arms, to make love to you over and over again until I’ve filled you so completely that there’s no room left inside of you for anyone but me, ever. I never thought of sexual intercourse as ‘making love’ until you. You never knew that.
Sometimes I break out in a cold sweat because Fm afraid I got you pregnant. I know I should have told you to abort my baby if I did get you pregnant I knew it in Colorado, but God, I didn’t want you to, Julie.
Wait—I just thought of a solution that never occurred to me before. I know I have no right to ask you to have my baby, but there’s a way to work it out, if you’re only willing: You could take a leave of absence and go away—I’ll see that you have plenty of money to compensate for what you lose from your job and to pay all your expenses. Then when the baby is born, I’d like you to take it to my grandmother. If you’re pregnant and you’re willing to do this for me, I’ll write to her in advance and explain about everything. For all her shortcomings, the woman has never turned away from a responsibility in her life, and she’ll see that our baby is properly raised. She has control of what would have been a very large inheritance of mine; a tiny part of that inheritance will be more than enough to pay for all the baby’s expenses and education.
You were right when you said I shouldn’t have closed the door on my family and burned my bridges. There were things I could have told my grandmother, even after I left home, that would have neutralized her hatred. You were right when you said that I loved and admired her when I was growing up. You were right about everything, and if I could change things now, I would.