Nonetheless, in the ultimate act of defiance, John Vandersol refused Tony’s offer. It was an act which has infuriated Tony ever since he learned of it two weeks ago. He hadn’t told Claire until a few hours ago.
Tony was certain Claire understood the implications (her ability to see her sister now or in the future was in serious jeopardy) without Tony spelling them out. That was good because the thought of his wife’s family caused his blood to boil, and it was truly better for Claire, if he didn’t experience that feeling while in her presence.
Tony poured himself a drink, perhaps it would help him sleep. Pacing the confines of his regal office he contemplated his wife further. He thought about Catherine’s words. She claimed Claire’s strength in the face of Tony’s adversity was proof of Claire’s true competence. Truly, Catherine’s encouragement regarding their relationship helped propel it beyond the original plan. Catherine claimed she saw Nathaniel’s positive qualities in Tony when he was with Claire. Comparing him to Nathaniel was no small compliment. Catherine’s approval of Claire continued to mean a great deal to Tony.
That was why Tony wanted Claire at the estate, safe, with Catherine to watch over her. With Rawlings Industries, Sophia, and John Vandersol, Tony didn’t need to be concerned about Claire, too. Her role as Mrs. Rawlings had just begun. And admittedly, in most situations, she’d done well. However, there were a few occasions she’d forgotten the significance of her new title. He didn’t want to spend his days worrying how her actions reflected upon him.
Claire said she wasn’t a spouse or a partner. That wasn’t true. He wanted her as both... however; Anthony Rawlings never shared control. His percentage always held more weight... therefore; it didn’t matter if she was bored: if he wanted her at the estate -- that was where she would be.
All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy;
for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves;
we must die to one life before we can enter another.
– Anatole France
Chapter 51
“Ms. Nichols, we’re almost to Palo Alto.” Grace’s voice penetrated Claire’s dream, resounding through the hum of engines. “Ms. Nichols, please return your seat to its upright position.”
Claire opened her eyes, seeing the luxurious interior of Tony’s private plane and the nice copilot standing before her. Recognizing she’d slept the entire flight, Claire slowly obeyed. She nodded at Grace as she pushed the appropriate buttons and returned her lounge to its chair position. It was true; no commercial seat, even in first class, could provide the comfort and serenity Claire had just enjoyed for over four hours.
As wakefulness came, so did hunger. Earlier in the afternoon she enjoyed one of her favorite meals: grilled salmon, asparagus, salad, and red potatoes. And since Tony claimed not to have requested the delicious menu, they both suspected Catherine. Nevertheless, as Claire adjusted her watch to Pacific Time, she realized dinner was over five hours ago. Contemplating her future, she wondered if the twisting in her stomach was hunger or the thought of her impending discussion with Harry and her future travel plans next Friday morning.
Claire wanted to talk with Harry, be honest, and explain her thoughts. The problem with her plan -- Claire didn’t know her own thoughts. Harry deserved honesty; she wasn’t completely sure what that entailed. She truly never meant to lead him on – she liked him. Perhaps no one would believe her, but up until recently, she never expected to even consider allowing Tony back into her life. Even now she didn’t know if their charade was an act or if real feelings were emerging.
From the moment Tony left her in the jail in Iowa, she thought they were ancient history. If she didn’t, would she have spent hours upon hours sitting with Meredith Banks recounting some of the most horrific times of her life? Would she have spent day after day researching Tony’s family history? No -- no, she wouldn’t.
And when he blackmailed her at the gala, she had no intentions to truly reconcile. It was all a sham. But ... Claire had to admit, there were moments... flashes of feelings. She tried to ignore them. Unfortunately, the press didn’t. Harry was right about some of the pictures; Claire wasn’t that good of an actress. The look in her eyes couldn’t be feigned. Nonetheless, that didn’t mean she wanted reconciliation. Well, not until... the little blue plus and pulsating black dot appeared.
If Claire allowed herself to somehow look past Tony’s faults and peer into the man who claimed never ending love, she could see his good. She could see what Catherine wanted her to see; he was trying.
As the plane descended, Claire struggled with her wedding portrait. Tony left her alone at the jail and stared at her every night above his fireplace. It didn’t make sense. And when she noticed it, he seemed surprised, obviously accustomed to its presence. She attempted to understand what he and Catherine tried to explain. Tony said he did what he did to save her -- from him. Catherine explained Tony made two promises; he tried to keep one in a way as to also keep the other. Was that the loop-hole he mentioned? In San Francisco, after the gala, Tony reminded Claire of his promise to love her forever, made in front of family and friends. Claire needed to know the specifics of his other promise and confirm to whom it was made. Was it his grandfather, as she’d suspected, or the woman in the blue Honda?
Claire closed her eyes and contemplated Brent’s recent information: Burke, the same name as the securities officer. Could Tony possibly be doing the same thing to someone else – like he did to her? Claire knew one thing for sure; no one else was in her suite.
Didn’t she owe it to herself and to their child to give this reconciliation a try? How could she possibly explain all of that to Harry? He knew the truth about Tony’s past behaviors. The night of the gala Harry was upset and said hurtful things. Nevertheless, Claire doubted he could ever treat someone the way he treated her in the beginning. How could she make anyone understand she would willingly choose Tony over Harry?
As the plane came to a stop on the tarmac, Claire stood. Her stomach knotted in anticipation of their conversation. Suddenly, she remembered the second part of her week -- John and Emily’s arrival tomorrow. If her impending conversation with Harry would be difficult, talking to her family would be impossible. Feeling light headed, Claire sat down against the plush seat and closed her eyes.
“Ms. Nichols, are you well? You’re very pale.”
Claire peered toward Grace’s concerned expression, “I think I just stood too fast.”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ll have your luggage out to you in a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” Claire said as the door began to open. Remaining seated she inhaled the fresh air and returned her iPhone to normal. There were three text messages. The first one was from Tony, sent just as she left Iowa: OH, BUT HOW I WOULD LOVE FOR YOU TO ELABORATE! The color quickly returned to her cheeks.
The second was received only a few minutes ago. I’M HERE, from Harry.
The third came immediately after Harry’s. YOU SHOULD BE LANDING, PLEASE LET ME KNOW YOU HAVE ARRIVED SAFELY, from Tony.
With the fresh air filling the cabin, Claire quickly replied to the third text: JUST LANDED. THANK YOU AGAIN FOR EVERYTHING. I SLEPT THE ENTIRE FLIGHT... VERY COMFORTABLE WITHOUT ALL THAT RECYCLED AIR! Smiling she hit send.
The comfortable California breeze refreshed Claire as she stood at the door atop the steps. Looking around she saw Harry standing casually near one of the hangers. Immediately, she recognized his blonde hair moving slightly in the breeze. Her eyes moved from there to his well-fitted black t-shirt tucked casually into the slim waist of his faded jeans. Claire remembered telling Courtney about Harry, describing him as the anti-Tony. That was so true and yet not. Both were incredibly accomplished, strong men. Tonight’s conversation would be much easier if Claire could in some way blame Harry. However, she knew none of this was Harry’s fault.
She smiled his direction and he nodded, stepping toward her as she descended the stairs.
*****
Sitting behind his large mahogany desk, Tony tried in vain to read the documents on his computer. The words entered his mind and disappeared before he could digest their meaning. He watched the clock in the corner of his monitor. Finally the iPhone to his right sounded and vibrated upon the smooth glossy surface. Hastily he swiped the screen. 1 Text Message: JUST LANDED. THANK YOU AGAIN FOR EVERYTHING. I SLEPT THE ENTIRE FLIGHT... VERY COMFORTABLE WITHOUT ALL THAT RECYCLED AIR! He smiled at her cheekiness. Maybe the recycled air was a stretch, but he would undoubtedly prefer her in Iowa to California. Nevertheless, they made progress this weekend. They both knew it. His phone sounded and vibrated again. 1 Text Message: MS. NICHOLS PLANE JUST LANDED. MR. BALDWIN WAITING AND LUGGAGE BEING PUT INTO HIS CAR. I WILL FOLLOW.
Tony’s neck muscles tightened. Does picking her up at the airport constitute a date? Tony tried to tell himself it didn’t. Besides, would he rather have her in a taxi with some stranger? They spent four days together, made love on three different occasions, and have a baby coming. While reasoning words went through his thoughts, the clenched jaws and tightened shoulders revealed the jealousy cursing through his veins.
Tony replied to Phillip Roach: KEEP HER IN SIGHT. LET ME KNOW IF THERE ARE ANY STOPS ON THE WAY TO THE CONDO. WHERE IS THAT PICTURE? He hit send. Text message number two, to Claire: OUR AGREEMENT FORBIDS PUBLIC EXPOSURE WITH ANYONE ELSE! I THOUGHT I’D MADE THAT CLEAR! WE HAVE AN UNDERSTANDING! (Exclamation marks were so often overused in text messages.) Tony hesitated. He repeatedly hit the backspace key.
He typed once again: IM GLAD THE AIR WAS TO YOUR LIKING. REMEMBER OUR AGREEMENT. CALL WHEN YOU’RE SETTLED. The restraint was difficult, but he knew he wasn’t going to win her back without effort. The damn press would have a field day if they saw her with Mr. Baldwin, but Tony reminded himself to do what he’d told her to do -- trust. Exhaling he tried. It was especially difficult if you’d never done it before.
The sound and vibration announced another arriving text message: THE PICTURE WAS SENT TO YOUR EMAIL. LET ME KNOW IF YOU DON’T HAVE IT.
Shit, Tony had been trying to read the acquisition documents and forgot to check his email. He switched screens. There was the email from Phillip Roach with attachment. He opened the attachment. The photo quality was poor, obviously enlarged too many times, creating a very grainy image. Tony pushed the plush carpet with his feet, as his leather chair moved away from the screen hoping for a clearer picture. He saw a man with little to no hair. Was he older and balding or younger with his head shaved? Looking closer Tony guessed the man was older. Normally, Tony was excellent with names and faces. He saw a hint of familiarity, but Tony couldn’t remember why. Perhaps it had been a long time since he’d seen him, or maybe he’d been on television or in the news. Regardless, the twinge of recognition made Tony uncomfortable. Why would someone he recognized be stealing Claire’s laptop?
Two more text messages came through his iPhone. The first one, from Claire: I DO. I WILL LATER. Tony exhaled. It took every fiber of self-restraint to not get on another plane and go get her. Second message, from Phillip Roach: DID YOU GET THE EMAIL? I CAN RESEND.
*****
On a Sunday night the light traffic around Palo Alto flowed well. Nevertheless, within Harry’s Mustang their polite conversation was strained through the dense unspoken tension. Harry asked, “How was the wedding?”
Claire told him about Caleb, Julia, Courtney, and Brent and how nice it was to talk openly. She rambled about one thing and another, avoiding their impending discussion.
As the tension began to wane, Harry asked, “Would you like to get something to eat?”
Claire thought about it. She was hungry. Yet, Tony’s reminder about their agreement came to mind. Even more deterring was the thought of her and Harry’s future talk. “I think I’d like to order something to the condo,” she said, as they neared the four story building. “It will be more private, and we need to talk.”
Harry eyed her suspiciously, “Talk?”
Claire exhaled. “Oh, come on. You have more questions than you’re politely asking. I think we need to be honest about what’s going on.”
“I thought we were.”
Claire exhaled. “Please, I need to tell you a few things.”
“Maybe I don’t want to hear them.” Harry waved at the security guard as he pulled the Mustang into the underground parking garage. “Hey, there’s a van in your spot.” Harry noticed as they wove around to his assigned parking spot. “I don’t remember seeing that before. I could call...” He hesitated, “or maybe you should call security and have it moved.”
Claire didn’t care about the stupid van. She wouldn’t have her car back from the airport until tomorrow. “If it’s here in the morning I will. It’s probably someone’s guest who doesn’t know about the assigned spots.” She looked at his light blue eyes, “Please, can we order some delivery and talk?”
“Yeah, fine.” He got out of the car and began removing her bags from his trunk. “My place or yours?”
Claire pulled the smaller bag, while Harry pulled the larger. Stepping into the elevator she replied, “How about yours?” She reasoned it would be easier for her to leave if things got too uncomfortable. “I’ll take my bags in and freshen up. Then I’ll be over.”
“Don’t forget, your room’s a mess.”
She had forgotten. There were too many things competing for space in her head. “Oh yeah, I’ll do a quick inventory and let you know if I think anything else is missing.”
Harry walked Claire to her door and let go of her large suitcase. “Are you sure you’re okay seeing your room by yourself?”
Claire shrugged. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why don’t you call for some food?” She thought a moment as she unlocked her door, “Just no sushi, all right?”
Harry’s blue eyes squinted, allowing his amazingly long lashes to linger near his cheeks, and his head tilted to the side. “But you like sushi,” seeing her wrinkled nose he asked, “How about Chinese?”
She nodded. “Chinese sounds great. Extra rice,” she added with a smile.
*****
Parked across the street from 365 Forest Avenue in his nondescript grey Camry, Phillip watched the lights turn on in the large windows on the fourth floor. He typed the text message while engaging his laptop. MS NICHOLS ARRIVED TO CONDO. NO STOPS ON WAY. He checked his laptop. The sensors would indicate if only her apartment opened or if both hers and Mr. Baldwin’s opened. The sensors were new, but with the recent break-in and an unlimited budget, no piece of technology was beyond his scope.
There must be something wrong with his sensors. Yes, Claire’s door just opened and now Mr. Baldwin’s door opened. However, the data indicated Claire’s door also opened twenty minutes ago. Phillip’s heart raced as he looked up toward the windows. He pulled out his phone; Mr. Rawlings answered on the first ring. Common pleasantries disappeared, “I just read my sensors. She’s in her unit and it was opened twenty minutes ago.” Phil’s voice came with deep breaths as he raced across the street.
Ignoring Mr. Rawlings’ bellowing voice, Phil hastily entered Claire’s building and approached the security desk, “Has anyone been to unit 4 A recently?” The security guard looked at Phil questionably. Phil repeated himself louder, “The unit that was broken into last week? Has anyone been up there?” Phil could still hear Mr. Rawlings yelling through the phone.
“Yes, there was a delivery. The man had the appropriate documents.”
Phil revealed the picture he’d sent Mr. Rawlings, “Is this the man?”
The security guard looked at the picture, “I don’t know. He had documents. Yeah, maybe... he was bald.”
“Call 911 and get me up there right away!” Phil’s voice rose above Mr. Rawlings’.
*****
Tony could hear everything and do nothing. How long would it take to get up four flights? He disconnected from Phillip Roach and scrolled his contacts, finding Harrison Baldwin. He hit call.
*****
Claire pull
ed her luggage into the foyer. She’d forgotten about her room being a mess. Maybe Tony didn’t have anything to do with it. If that were the case, she was glad she’d been out of town when it happened. Suddenly, she wished Amber were home.
Turning on lights, she headed toward the kitchen. Even though Harry was calling for dinner, she thought a little snack might help her nerves before she faced her wrecked room and their conversation. She watched as the overhead lights flooded the living room and darkened the outside world beyond the large windows.
Which occurred first, the sound of his footsteps or sensing his presence? Claire’s heart raced as she spun around. She recognized the man immediately -- Patrick Chester, the neighbor from Santa Monica. In an attempt to hide her panic, she feigned indignation, “What are you doing in my house?”
He walked toward her, his beady eyes narrowing while his smile widened.
She repeated her question, “What are you doing in my house? Get out!”
He continued forward. She backed toward the windows and assessed an escape. If she ran through the kitchen, could she get back to the door and out before him?
“You made me think you’re Anton’s daughter.” Patrick laughed. The menacing sound made the hairs on the back of Claire’s neck prickle. “You’re not his daughter unless that’s what they call whores who seduce Sugar Daddy’s!” His volume rose with each word.
The distance between them lessened as her back pressed against the cool glass. “I never told you I was...”
Without warning his hand forcefully contacted her left cheek causing her to stumble sideways. She caught herself against the glass before falling to the floor. He grabbed her hair and pulled her back to her feet. Tears filled her eyes as her scalp screamed in pain.