6

She did her own shopping in the afternoon, searching for a little black dress and minimum-size costume jewelry. She overspent on a perfume that she had bought just once in the States, where the price was even more outrageous. And she stopped at a lingerie shop, where she bought more of the French intimates that had been delivered to her door. Then she did a few of the tourist things—a bateau down the Seine, an elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower. She even rode on the Ferris wheel in the Tuileries Gardens. She still had Notre Dame on her list when she ran out of time and caught a bus that ran along the river to her hotel. She was modeling the dress in front of her mirror when Andrews called from the lobby.

She found him in the lounge with a bottle of champagne that was chilling in a silver bucket. “Okay?” he asked, indicating the champagne, and as soon as she smiled he signaled to the waiter. “I see you did your own shopping. Very nice! Very nice indeed.” He toasted her new dress.

“And you?” she asked.

Andrews shifted in his chair. “I have some friends here that I try to visit whenever I get a chance.”

“Business friends?”

“No, personal. Actually, it’s family, but it’s not so much a pleasure as a chore. Usually I’m in and out of Paris. But today I had the time, so I thought I’d bite the bullet.” He seemed eager to change the subject. “Did you decide on your story line? Hopefully, I’m not still a ‘rapacious monopolist’ or an ‘insensitive gorilla.’”

She colored just a bit. Her words seemed unnecessarily hurtful when spoken by their target. Now she needed a change of subject. “I have enough business material for a book, let alone an article. But I’d like some personal background. Something beyond your official biography.”

“For instance?”

“Well, for instance, how often do you get to see your children? Is there any time in your schedule for family life?”

He thought for a moment and then decided. “Not enough, I guess. My family has been … abbreviated. There’s just the children … young adults, I suppose … and they’re in school. I see them on vacations and at school events, and I try to have them with me during the summer.”

“That’s Cassie and Craig,” she said, confirming what she knew from her research.

He nodded. “Cassie is fifteen, and Craig thirteen. Difficult ages to get close to. Last summer I chartered a sailboat on the Costa Brava. Just the three of us, mastering the elements together. Ten days of thrills and excitement!”

“It sounds wonderful,” Jane said.

“It was hell! After two days I wanted to throw both of them overboard. By the end of the first week I was considering throwing myself over. We made port, left the boat, and coexisted in a hotel, where we could each plan an individual daily agenda. I couldn’t wait to get them back to school, and I think they were just as eager to be free of me.”

Jane sympathized even though she admitted she had no experience with children. “My husband promised we’d start a family as soon as his first play was produced. At the rate he was going, my biological clock would have stopped ticking.” He asked, so she gave him a brief résumé of life with Arthur Keene. She tried not to be too critical. Arthur was rolling his dice in the arts, a risky financial plan at best. He needed someone to mind him so he could concentrate on his plays. “That’s not me,” she said. “He’ll be better off if he hooks up with someone more inspired by his talent.”

They had discussed her life outside the office, which gave her an entry to probe into his. Jane knew that he had married Kay Parker, a young socialite who had more than fulfilled all her youthful promise, and that they had been a public monument for ten years. Kay had died violently during a skiing vacation in the Adirondacks. An intruder had broken into their lodge and killed her with a shotgun blast. William had been wounded in the attack.

It had happened eight years ago, before William Andrews had put together his global empire. But even then, he was a successful businessman in a highly visible industry. Kay had become his partner in building and promoting his network, but she still dominated the society pages. The murder had made headlines in the tabloids, and rated two columns on an inside page in the Times. There were running references to the tragedy during the following weeks as the police found and then discarded new leads.

“How do you recover from a personal tragedy like the one you suffered?” Jane ventured. And then to give him a lead, she added, “I suppose having business challenges gives you something else to think about. Did it help you refocus?”

His eyes flashed an instant of anger and then went glassy. He suddenly seemed to have trouble swallowing.

“I’m sorry,” she said right away. “I thought it might explain, in some way, your … drive.”

He recovered and forced a smile. “That’s okay. It’s not my favorite topic, and I hope you won’t dwell on it.”

“Please, forget I asked….”

“No, it’s a fair question. How did I get over such an event? And the answer is that I never have. It’s with me all the time, and it’s certainly with Cassie and Craig. Trying to distance myself from it is probably what pushes me so relentlessly into my business. I guess that trying to get away from it also makes the kids so … selfish.”

Jane didn’t know how to respond. She fidgeted with her empty champagne glass until the waiter rushed to refill it.

“They’re very lonely,” he said of his children, curiously, as if he were trying to sift through clues for answers. “They don’t have any friends, even at school. It’s as if they’re afraid to reveal themselves to other kids. Afraid of being hurt again.”

“That’s understandable,” Jane commented.

“Yeah, I suppose so. The fact is that I don’t have any close friends, either.”

He signaled for the check as a way of showing that he would rather put the subject aside. But Jane didn’t want to end their meeting in such gloom. “But you do have friends. Bob Leavitt seems as true a friend as I’ve ever met. He knows you and respects you but still enjoys pointing out your foibles.”

Andrews considered her point and admitted, “You’re right. Bob and I go back a long way together. We’ve always trusted each other … always been honest with each other.” He smiled and shook his head at some past memory. But just as quickly he became serious. “He was the first one at the lodge that night. He probably saved my life.”

“Really?” She wanted him to go on, but the check came and then they were on their feet and walking across the lobby.

“Hey,” he said as if the idea had just struck him, “why don’t you come to dinner with us. A lot of boring business talk, but it might be better than dining alone. Unless, of course, you’ve made other arrangements?”

“Oh, sure.” Jane laughed. “Three or four guys have offered to buy me dinner.” And then, more seriously, “But you might have things to talk about in confidence.”

“Okay, we’ll agree that it’s off the record. Anything you hear is as privileged as your sins in a confessional.”

“You’re sure the others won’t mind? They were all struck dumb when I got into the limo last night.”

He led her away from the elevators and out to the front door. “Then we won’t talk business. We’ll have plenty of time for that on the flight home.”

His car was waiting, held at the ready by a white-gloved doorman and a uniformed chauffeur. He gave no instructions. The driver already knew where they were going.

Jane took up her interview even though she knew she was trespassing. “You said Robert saved your life. Figuratively, I imagine.” “Literally! I probably would have bled to death.” She was turned toward him, eager for him to continue. “Bob was staying a couple of miles from the ski house, at the Bass Inn, where we had just held a business meeting. I called him, along with the police. He was the first one on the scene. I had been shot along with Kay, but I didn’t realize it. I mean, obviously I knew I was hit and that I was bleeding, but it didn’t seem to register.”

“You were probably completely involved with saving your wife.” He winced and then shook his head. “No. I knew she was dead. Nothing could have saved her. I just slumped into a chair and did absolutely nothing. It was probably five minutes before I picked up the phone. And when Bob got there I had bled all over the chair. Apparently one of the pellets had hit an artery. I was bleeding to death and I didn’t give a damn. He did the bandaging and got me a doctor. From there they took me to the hospital.”

“I never heard that you were so badly wounded. The press reports—”

He interrupted. “That was another thing that Bob handled. He talked about ‘minor injuries’ in the fourth paragraph of the release. The truth might have panicked our stockholders.”

Lights went flashing by as they left the highway along the river and entered the central tunnel. Andrews looked idly out the window.

Jane tried to wrap things up. “I’d like to put a sentence about the … tragedy … into my piece. I think it helps explain your business success. But I’ll run it by you first.”

He didn’t hear her. Instead of responding, he said, “You know, I’ve never talked about that night. Not since the investigation finished. I’ve thought about it, and even visualized the whole thing over again. But I haven’t had one single conversation about it. I suppose that everyone thinks the subject is off-limits, probably because I’ve never brought it up.” He turned to her. “You’re the first person who asked, and pressed for answers.”

She felt chastised. “I’m sorry. I should have guessed …” “No, no! Maybe it’s good for me. Maybe I should talk about it.” Then he admitted, “It’s hard to know what helps and what hurts. The kids won’t talk about it. It’s as if they never had a mother. I guess it hurts to remember.”

They were out of the tunnel, on the Boulevard Haussmann, approaching the opera district. The window displays of fashion and jewelry were dazzling, and the pedestrians vied with automobiles for control of the streets. The restaurant, in the middle of a block, had one of the humbler facades.

The others had assembled—Frier, Davis, and Applebaum, still dark, open-collared, and menacing; Kim Annuzio, wearing a suit coat over her blouse and slacks. Leavitt was the only one in a tie. The waiters made light of setting another place at the large round table and squeezing in another chair. “My interview with J.J. here has been going very well,” Andrews said to explain the unexpected addition. “She promised to write nice things about me, and if you play your cards right, she may give you some of the credit for our success.” There were nods and smiles all around, but no one seemed terribly pleased at having her join them. Only Leavitt complimented her dress. “She’s agreed that while she may remember what she hears tonight, she’ll go to her death rather than reveal a word.” Still no one seemed reassured.

Andrews waited until they had finished their first two bottles of wine before raising business topics, and by then his executives had loosened up a bit. He sat like a moderator directing the conversation back and forth, getting a range of opinions on each subject raised. The conclusion that came together over dessert was that they had a deal to buy control of a French cable distributor and that the government would take their side before the European antitrust court.

“About all we could have expected,” Andrews concluded.

“I’d like to be sure that the local managers will stay on,” Kim added. Henry Davis was still unhappy about the interest rate that the French bankers were charging, guessing that they were paying an additional half percent just for political support. It was over brandy when Leavitt put Jane in the spotlight. “Any first impressions, now that you’re getting to know us?” he asked. All eyes were on her.

For an instant she considered an empty compliment. But she decided it was better to show them that she took her work seriously, and she began outlining the concerns of the financial community. Growth opportunities were limited by legal restrictions and public resentment. Their debt ratio was too high. Each of her comments elicited a defense, and the conversation began to heat up. Andrews signaled for another round of cognac.

Most dangerous, Jane said, was the perception of a one-man company. While Andrews’s reputation for success was a major selling point, it also raised fears that the company might collapse if anything happened to its leader. That thought was instantly sobering. It was well after midnight when the party made its way back to the hotel.

Lying in her queen-size bed beneath the painted blue sky, with cherubs peering down at her, Jane thought about the new life she had been leading for the past twenty-four hours. A private jet across the ocean. A wildly expensive French hotel. Shopping in the best stores with the most fashionable names. The company of one of the most famous businessmen in the world. The grand restaurants and the vintage wines. And most of all, the heady conversation with important people listening to her and taking her seriously. Quite a change from her suburban one-bedroom with coffee sloshed down the front of the cabinets, from delicatessen salads eaten at her desk, and from her small glass-walled editorial office.

It gave her a completely new sense of worth. Only two days ago she had been cutting wire-service reports to fit limited space and trying to make still another shopping plaza sound like an earth-shaking economic event. Her biggest story of the previous week had been a chamber of commerce luncheon—the standard chicken and peas with a house white wine—where the guest speaker was the owner of a car dealership. Today had been haute cuisine with people whose decisions could bring down a bank, an industry, and maybe even a country. It was going to be hard for her to get excited over her beat on the Southport Post.

But most memorable of all were the moments when William Andrews, who had told her several times to call him Bill, had taken her measure and seemed to like what he was seeing. He had trusted her with his disappointment in his children, a secret that few parents ever share. He had told her about his wife’s death, a subject he claimed he never discussed. For a few moments he let himself be vulnerable, dangerous at all times for a tycoon of his stature and certainly foolish in the presence of a stranger. But he had trusted her as if she weren’t a stranger and, for a few moments, even needed her to listen. He had admitted pain, an admission of weakness that most men would never reveal.

She wondered what she would write about him. A man impelled to build an empire big enough to overshadow an enormous loss. Someone who had suffered and now tried to insulate himself from any further pain. Or maybe a person who lived in terrible despair inside an impenetrable shell of financial power. Would he regret the moment he had taken off his armor? Or would he see it as the beginning of his recovery from his wounds? Had she seen the last of William Andrews? Or would her role in the basement of his empire bring them together again? And if they did meet, would they resume the empathic relationship they had developed during the day? Or would they have to begin again as strangers?