It seemed only yesterday that he had stood beside her at the memorial service that had been held for their parents. With their stoic-faced relatives ranged behind them, they had held each other’s hands and fought back tears. Perhaps it was then that Leo had begun to emerge into manhood, Zinnia thought.
She certainly had not been the same since that bleak day. The stress of dealing with the personal tragedy as well as the very disastrous, very public bankruptcy of Spring Industries had changed both of them.
“I admit he’s got a reputation,” she said. “But I think it’s somewhat exaggerated. In fact, I think he deliberately promotes it because he believes it’s good for business.”
“The rumors about him aren’t all fantasy.” Leo’s fingers tightened around his double tall coff-tea latté glass. “Listen, after the story about you and Chastain finding Fenwick’s body broke in the newspapers I started hearing things.”
“What sort of things?”
“Remember John Garrett?”
“Sure. Garrett Electronics. John used to be a friend of yours back in the old days.” The old days was mutually understood by both of them to refer to the era before the loss of their parents.
“John and I ran into each other again in a History of Synergistic Theory class this semester. He took me aside yesterday. Told me he’d seen the headlines about you and Chastain. He wanted to warn me.”
“About what?”
“About what kind of guy Chastain is.” Leo leaned a little farther across the tiny table. “Seems like John’s cousin, Randy, lost a lot of money in Chastain’s Palace a few months ago. Randy had to go to his father for cash to settle the debt.”
“That would be John’s uncle?”
“Right. At any rate, old man Randolph Garrett was furious. Mostly because he didn’t have the cash. He didn’t want anyone to know he was having financial problems. Some kind of merger was in process. At any rate, John said that borrowing to pay off Randy’s debt would have brought the kind of attention from the business news media that could have jeopardized the deal.”
“What happened?”
“Randy’s father went to see Chastain who said that things could be worked out.” Leo glanced around once more and then lowered his voice. “Get this, Chastain told him that the gambling debt would be wiped off the books provided Garrett sold him a certain piece of property up in the hills above the city.”
“So? That seems perfectly reasonable to me. Generous, even.”
Leo gave her an exasperated look. “The property was the original Garrett estate. The one John Jeremy Garrett, himself, built three generations ago. It’s a piece of the Garrett family history. They would never have parted with it willingly. Chastain must have known that.”
“Did Randy’s father sell the property to Chastain?”
“He had no choice. John told me that the other branches of the Garrett clan were furious when they found out that the estate had been sold off. It was supposed to pass down through Randy’s side of the family.”
“You just told me that Randy’s father was in financial difficulty. If that was true, the estate would likely have been sold, in any event. We had to sell our family home four years ago. These things happen.” It worried Zinnia that she was trying to defend Nick Chastain or at least excuse his actions. Not a good sign, she thought. Not good at all.
“John said the Garrett estate would have been the last thing to go. And even if it had been sold, the family would never have agreed to sell it to someone like Chastain.”
Zinnia chuckled. She couldn’t help herself. “Horrors. A casino owner in the neighborhood. Who will they let in next?”
Leo’s mouth tightened. “Don’t you get it? It’s an example of how Chastain works. He obviously wanted that estate. He knew he’d never convince the Garretts to sell it to him, so he manipulated Randy into a big loss at the casino.”
“Are you accusing Nick of cheating his customers?”
“He wouldn’t have to resort to cheating.” Leo flopped back in his chair. “John said Randy is kind of wild. Give him a few drinks, feed him all the gambling chips he wants, and the end result would be a foregone conclusion. Chastain must have known that.”
Yes, Zinnia thought, Chastain would have known that.
“He’s a matrix,” she said quietly.
“Chastain? Five hells.” Leo’s mouth twisted with acute disgust. “I should have guessed. That explains a few things.”
“Such as?”
“Such as your trying to see his good side when it’s obvious to everyone else that he doesn’t have one. You know how you are when it comes to matrix-talents. You always feel sorry for them. God knows why.”
“Don’t worry about me feeling sorry for Nick Chastain. I’m well aware of the fact that he can take care of himself. I promise I’ll watch my step.”
“Zin, I don’t want you fooling around in a murder investigation.”
“If I find anything I’ll go straight to the cops. Now, enough about that. How are things going with you?”
Leo frowned at the change of subject. He raised one shoulder in a small shrug. “Okay.”
“That doesn’t sound like okay to me.”
Leo groaned. “Uncle Stanley came to see me yesterday. Took me to lunch. Said he wanted to talk to me man-to-man.”
“Oh, dear. Same song and dance?”
“Yeah. Asked me when I was going to give up the academic world and start concentrating on preparing myself for the real world of business. Went into his usual routine.”
“You mean he pointed out that there was no serious money in teaching?”
“Yeah. Reminded me that the Spring family roots were in business. Said you were being difficult about fulfilling your responsibilities to the clan. That if you refused to contract a suitable marriage, there would be no one left but me to restore the family fortunes. Blah, blah, blah.”
“Don’t listen to him, Leo.” Zinnia reached across the table to touch his sleeve. “You’re going to be a brilliant synergistic historian. It’s what you were born to do. You’ve got a powerful psychometric-talent and an aptitude for research. It would be a crime to give up your dreams.”
Leo’s mouth twisted. “And besides, we both know I’d never make it big in the business world. Spread sheets, bottom lines, and five-year financial forecasts bore the socks off me. But the family is going to keep pushing both of us, Zin.”
“We’ll stand firm.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I know.” Zinnia sighed. “I know. But we’ve made it this far. We can hold out for the duration.”
“Don’t count on it.”
Zinnia and Leo exchanged troubled glances. When push came to shove on St. Helens, family almost always won.
“What is it, Feather?” Nick did not look up from the computer screen on his desk.
Feather’s voice emerged from the intercom only slightly more gravelly than usual. “Hobart Batt is here, boss.”
Nick stared at the screen full of financial data in front of him. He should have been pleased that Batt had apparently moved quickly to start the matchmaking process, but for some reason, he felt a chill in his gut.
“Damn,” he said softly. “I forgot about him. Give me a couple of minutes, then send him into the red chamber, Feather.”
“Sure, boss.”
“By the way, Feather?”
“Yeah?”
“When I’m through with Batt, ask Rathbone to come see me for a few minutes.”
“You want to talk to the head chef, boss? Something wrong in the Palace dining rooms?”
“No. It’s a private matter.”
“Private?” Feather sounded confused.
“Tell him to bring some sample menus for a picnic for two.”
“A picnic?” Feather was beyond confused now. He was beginning to sound uneasy. “You going on a picnic, boss?”
“A classy picnic. The kind you see in movies. You know, where they serve a bottle of good wine
and pâté and tiny little sandwiches.”
“I never been on any picnics like that.”
“Neither have I. But I’m sure Rathbone can handle it. Any chef who can get the tri-city-state award of excellence four years in a row and who could please the Founders’ Club members for a decade should be able to put together a decent picnic.”
“I’ll tell him you want to see him, boss.” The intercom went silent.
Nick reluctantly blanked the computer screen and got to his feet. He went to the wall and pushed the button that opened the secret panel. It slid aside with the hushed mechanical whir of a hidden motor to reveal the gilded red-and-black chamber.
Batt could not have come up with any matches yet, Nick assured himself. There were forms to be filled out. A battery of syn-psych tests to take. Everyone knew that the marriage registration process was a lengthy thorough-going business. No reputable syn-psych counselor could produce a match after a single interview.
It was too soon.
What the hell was he thinking, he wondered as he walked toward the gleaming obsidian-wood desk. He wanted Batt to move quickly. Why the cold chill?
It didn’t take a matrix to answer that, he decided grimly. He took his seat behind the ornate desk. For all his planning and unwavering intentions, he didn’t want to think about his future wife now that he was involved, however tenuously, with Zinnia.
The door opened. Feather’s gleaming skull reflected the soft glow of the jelly lamps. He ushered Hobart, who was nattily attired in a fashionable, well-cut gray suit and a pink bow tie, into the room.
“Come in, Hobart.” Nick did not rise. “Please sit down. I assume you’re here on business?”
Hobart cleared his throat and walked nervously to the chair in front of the desk. “I brought a questionnaire. You’ll have to fill it out before I can proceed.”
“Of course. Let me see it.”
Hobart perched primly on the edge of the chair and opened his briefcase. “It asks for details about your personal preferences, your hobbies and uh—” He glanced around the chamber with ill-concealed dismay and swallowed heavily. “Your tastes.”
“Don’t look so worried, Hobart.” Nick smiled as he took the questionnaire. “I’m sure you’ll find me a lady who won’t mind my tastes. And I have no hobbies.”
“No hobbies?”
“I don’t have time for unimportant pursuits.” Nick glanced through the thick questionnaire. “Running a casino keeps me fully occupied.”
“I see.” Hobart drew himself up. “Mr. Chastain, we really must discuss your business occupation and your unusual psychic talent.”
“What’s to discuss?”
“You must understand that both are serious impediments to a successful match, especially since you have insisted upon limiting your selection to registrants from a certain social class.”
“Don’t worry about it, Hobart.” Nick closed the questionnaire. “I’m sure you’ll find someone suitable for me.”
“There is one other thing, sir.”
“Yes?”
Hobart took a deep breath. “You mentioned that you were an untested talent.”
Nick raised his brows. “What of it?”
“Sir, I work for a very reputable marriage agency. Synergistic Connections adheres to a code of ethics. We simply cannot attempt a match unless both parties have been rated and assigned a position on the paranormal power spectrum.”
“In that case, I’m afraid you’ll have to handle this match off the record, Hobart. It will be our little secret.”
“How am I supposed to convince a respectable lady to consider a match with an untested matrix-talent? It just isn’t done. No family would permit such an alliance. No woman in her right mind would even think of taking such a risk.”
“You’re forgetting my one great asset, Hobart.”
Hobart looked wary. “What is that, sir?”
“I’m rich.”
Chapter
13
* * * * * * * * * *
Zinnia stood in the courtyard and surveyed the imposing structure in front of her. “As we interior designers say in situations such as this, it’s got great bones.”
This was the home that Nick had chosen for his bride, she thought. The place where he and the future Mrs. Chastain would raise a family. She did not want to admire the mansion. For some obscure reason, she longed to find fault with the soaring columns, graceful steps, and spacious gardens. But the designer in her was too honest. The old Garrett estate was beautiful.
The house and well-planted grounds occupied an acre of prime-view land above the city. The main building was a large two-storey stone affair in the Neo-Early Exploration Period style. The architect had captured the exuberant spirit of the earlier era while managing to avoid the frothy excesses. The result was elegant restrained exuberance. This was a house that was imbued with a sense of the future, Zinnia thought. A house infused with optimism and hope.
An elegant colonnaded porch surrounded the entire mansion. The windows were tall and well-proportioned to match the high-ceilinged rooms inside. There was a subtle symmetry to the design that was not generally found either in the original buildings of the Early Exploration Period or in the Later Revival Period.
“Good bones?” Nick removed a huge picnic hamper from the trunk of the Synchron. “If that’s a polite way of telling me the place is a little run-down, save your breath. I already know there’s a lot of work to be done. The good news is, I’ve got the money to do it.”
“Unlike the Garretts?”
Nick quirked a brow as he walked toward her with the hamper. “So you do recognize the place.”
“Any architect or designer would.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “I also know how you got the Garrett family to sell it to you.”
“I didn’t force the sale,” he said coldly. “And I paid full market value. The Garretts came out of the deal with enough cash to finance a merger that was very important to the corporation at the time.”
“Uh-huh.”
Nick started up the front steps. “Don’t kid yourself. Old Randolph Garrett, Senior, put out the word that he was forced to sell in order to rescue young Randy from my clutches. But the truth was, Garrett was secretly thrilled to have an excuse to get rid of the place. The property descended through his side of the family. He had the responsibility for maintaining it. It was a steady drain on his finances at a time when he couldn’t afford it.”
“I see. You must have been one of the few people in the entire city-state who was willing and able to buy it. Most folks couldn’t afford the upkeep, let alone a major remodel.”
“I can afford both.” Nick set down the hamper to activate the old jelly-ice lock on the door. “And I want the remodeling done right.”
“I’m surprised the Historical Preservation Society didn’t try to get their hands on the house. I would have thought they’d have paid big bucks for John Jeremy Garrett’s personal estate.”
“I beat them to it.” Nick opened the door to reveal a spacious circular hall tiled in pale green rainstone. “And for the record, from now on, it’s the new Chastain estate.”
No one could have missed the naked possessiveness in his voice, Zinnia thought. She studied the spacious graceful rooms as she followed him through the empty mansion.
“It’s not exactly your style, Nick.”
“Don’t worry, by the time I gild the columns with some fake gold paint, put down lots of red and black carpeting, cover the windows with red velvet drapes and hang a lot of scarlet and gold wallpaper, it will look like home.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Nick turned to glance at her over his shoulder. He said nothing but his eyes gleamed.
Zinnia put up her hands, palms out. “Okay, okay, it was a joke. You shouldn’t tease a professional interior designer that way.”
“I thought you liked red.” His gaze traveled slowly down her body, taking in the gauzy, ankle-length, sunrise-red dress she
wore. “You sure look good in it.”
She felt herself grow very warm beneath his blatantly sexy gaze. “It’s my trademark. And it’s okay for clothes. But a whole house done in red would look like a bordello or a, uh—”
“Casino?” he suggested.
“Well, yes. And you distinctly told me that you didn’t want your future bride to live in a casino.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t.” He set the hamper down on the floor. “As you can see, I really do need an interior designer. Someone who knows the Neo-Early Exploration Period style. I want the place restored properly. Like one of those places you see in Architectural Synergy magazine. How about it?”
She surveyed the vast, empty, great room in which they stood. “Are you offering me the job for real?”
“Why not?” Nick walked to the bank of windows that overlooked the city. He kept his back to Zinnia as he gazed into the late evening sun that was sinking swiftly into the bay. “Nothing says we can’t continue on with our partnership after we finish this business with the journal.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You do that.”
He was serious, she thought. “This house is very important to you, isn’t it?”
“It’s my future,” he said simply.
“What about your past?”
“My past is the casino. I’m going to sell it.”
That startled her. “Why?”
“It’s part of my plan.”
“Your plan to buy respectability, you mean?”
“I told you, I only got into the gambling business because it was a way to make a lot of money.” Nick turned slowly around to face her. “I’ve invested the profits in a variety of places during the past three years. Stocks and bonds. Western Islands shipping. I’ve provided some venture capital for some new businesses that have gone big. The usual.”
“All very respectable.”
His smile held cold satisfaction. “Exactly. My children will have all the benefits of respectability. They won’t have to live with gossip and sly glances. My daughters will never face humiliation at society’s hands. My sons won’t know what it is to have the doors of opportunity closed in their faces simply because they can’t claim a socially acceptable family.”