A ruling passion : a novel (51 page)

Valerie was stunningly beautiftil, the perfect hostess, the perfect wife. He loved her as much as he could love any woman, he told himself; after all, he knew he was a fairly selfish fellow, and it was difficult for him to care deeply about anyone—women had been telling him that all his life. But he was enthralled by Sybille.

It was going so well that Sybille was beginning to take it for granted. But then, on a Tuesday morning in the last week of September, in the eleventh month of their affair, he was not at the guest cottage when she arrived, nor did he call or come at all that day. She still had not heard from him by Friday, and as she drove to the cottage that afternoon she was gripped by anger and fear. When she saw his car parked discreetly at the back, in its usual place, she was so relieved she almost ran into the cottage. "I thought you'd gone away without telling me," she said. "And I'd be alone again."

He was sitting in a wicker armchair, slumped in its depths. "You know I wouldn't do that," he muttered.

Sybille stopped short, in the center of the room. "What happened?" Usually, within thirty seconds of arriving, they would be on their way to bed. This time he did not even look at her. "Well?" she demanded. "Are you going to tell me?"

He looked up at her. "You don't like to hear people's problems," he said shrewdly.

"Not everybody's, but I want to hear yours. Maybe I can help. Carl, what happened?"

After a moment, he shrugged and forced out the words. "I lost... some money. In the market. Got careless, didn't pay attention; thinking of you—" He saw her stiffen, and said quickly, "Not your fault;

Fm not blaming you. There isn't anybody to blame; just me. Thafs the worst, you know: nobody to dump on; it was all me. I made some stupid half-ass moves, my timing was off. I thought I had a sure thing, but it was bad information... and then the stock took a dive..."

"When?"

"Monday afternoon. That's where I was Tuesday: in New York, watching my money go down the fucking drain."

"How much?"

''Not only mine. Christ, that would have been bad enough. But it was Valerie's and her mother's too; their whole goddam motherfuck-ing portfolios blown to hell and gone."

Sybille felt a high-pitched thrill of excitement. "Valerie's? All Valerie's money? Gone?"

"Don't overdo it," he snapped.

"How much was it?"

"All together, hers, her mother's and mine, almost fifteen million."

A long silence fell in the cottage. Sybille began to walk back and forth in the small room. All her money. Ifs £fone. She doesn't have any money. Ifs£ione. She's£fOt nothin£f.

"Can't you sit down?" demanded Carlton.

She shook her head, pacing and pacing, so excited she could not stop. Glee bubbled in her throat. "I'm thinking about what we can do."

"For Chrisfs sake, we can find me fifteen million to replace what I lost." His voice rose; his eyes were burning. "There's nothing you can do, and all I can do is start selling everything I own. And tell Val. How the hell do I tell Val?" He slumped deeper in the chair. "Her father trusted me; I managed his money. Did a damn good job, too. Everybody trusted me. Everybody thought I was the cat's fat ass when it came to money; never let anything by me. Christ. How the fuck— how xhtfuck? —could I do that? Lost my touch, lost the money; shit, I'll have to sell the horses, the farm, my plane... and tell Val. The apartment in New York, the paintings, Christ, a goddam fortune in paintings... I had everything—you know? everythin£f! —and now most of it'll be gone. And I have to tell Val."

Sybille paced. She was hot and cold, intoxicated, rapturous. Her gaze darted everywhere, as if she were seeing the world for the first time. At the windows, she paused. Don't £fo too fast. Think about this. She's in my power; I can decide her future. She gazed through the windows. There were the pastures and fields of Virginia, green-gold in the

morning light. Acres of land, stretching to the horizon. Stretching to Culpeper, where, beside the Cathedral of Joy, there would be a town called Graceville.

"Carl," said Sybille softly. An idea was growing in her mind, growing, spreading like a great tree. There was no limit to how far it could grow.

She pulled a wicker chair close to Carlton and sat down, her knees almost touching his. "Carl, you haven't lost me. I'm here. I'm going to help you."

He shook his head.

"Carl, listen to me. Look at me. I have an idea."

He looked at her from beneath reddened lids. He was unshaven, and it occurred to her that he had probably been up all night.

"Are you listening?" she asked.

He nodded.

"You know my cathedral; you've been there." She waited. "Yes?"

"For Christ's sake, of course I know it. You were there."

"I haven't told you about Graceville."

He looked at her. "Never heard of it."

"It doesn't exist yet. Now listen. Do you know how the cathedral was built?"

"Donations. You said seven million—three more to come."

"Good; you remember. The money was given to the Hour of Grace Foundation. Tax-deductible contributions to a nonprofit religious institution run by a board of directors headed by a retired minister, a very respectable man named Floyd Bassington."

"For Christ's sake, Sybille, I haven't got time—"

"Damn it, listen to me; when have I ever wasted your time? The treasurer of the board is Monte James, president of James Trust and Savings; the vice-president and secretary is Arch Warman, president of Warman Developers and Contractors. The board pays me to produce 'The Hour of Grace.' The board takes in all contributions to The Hour of Grace,' and expends them. The board is planning to build a town called Graceville on land it will buy adjoining the two acres it bought for the Cathedral of Joy."

Carlton was frowning. "They spend the money any way they want? No strings? No oversight committee?"

Sybille nodded approvingly. Sometimes Carl was very quick. 'Yes," she said.

"And you've got a bank president and a developer."

"He's also a contractor."

Their eyes met. "What do you have in mind?" Carl asked.

"I think the board will ask you to be a shareholder in a development company that will buy the land we need for Graceville. The market price for that land is about ten thousand dollars an acre. If you buy it for that—thirteen hundred acres for thirteen million dollars—I think the board will buy the land from you for the price you quote them as a package. Say, thirty million."

Carlton was staring at her. A profit of seventeen million... "Where do I get the thirteen million to buy the land.>"

"Can you raise it? Sell the rest of your portfolio, borrow on those assets you were talking about—your New York apartment. Sterling Farms, your paintings... ?"

Slowly, he said, "Just about." He nodded twice, "And I'd get thirty million when I sell the land to the board."

Sybille smiled faindy. "Only twenty-six, and it will take about three months. Floyd and Monte and Arch each get one, and I get one, for our devoted efforts on your behalf That leaves you thirteen for Valerie's portfolio, and her mother's, and yours, and another thirteen to pay off the notes or mortgages you signed to raise the money."

"Back where I started."

"With no one knowing."

Flis face closed in. "I'm not sure ... I don't much like it."

"Neither do I," she said quickly. "I'd rather do everything openly, honestly; I don't like some of the things I have to do; they keep me awake at night, because I know this isn't really me. But, Carl, I can do so much good with Graceville; what difference does it make how we get the money, when good will come of it? It's good for you too."

"Where do you get thirty million to buy the land from me?"

"Donations. We're raising a hundred and fifty million to cover the start-up cost for Graceville. Last year Lily brought in over twenty-five million; this year it will be close to thirty, and next year we should hit seventy-five. But we'll need every penny of it."

Fie was staring at her. 'Tou're doing this with one show?"

"She's on twice a week."

"And people send in..."

"We've just begun; we're not even close to Swaggart and Jim and Tammy Bakker. But we'll leave them behind, they can't compare with Lily."

"How much..." He cleared his throat. "You said one hundred and fifty million for the town."

"Yes, but we'll take in far more before it's finished. The rest we need

for producing 'The Hour of Grace,' which includes my salary as producer, and my expenses; paying die board its salaries, office space, cars, a corporate plane... it's expensive to keep an expanding organization going, Carl."

He fell silent. "The board," he said at last. "You trust them?"

"They're deeply committed to building Graceville and bringing peace and joy to Lily's followers. Floyd, the president of the board, is a religious man who says he has a weak heart. I checked on him and he was fired for a few other weaknesses, but he's perfect for the Hour of Grace Foundation; devoted and energetic. Monte James will make the construction loans to the Foundation so the board can pay Arch War-man to build the town; both of them are as deeply committed as Floyd."

"And you.>"

"Of course."

"No, I meant, what position do you have on the board?"

"None," Sybiile said promptly. "I work behind the scenes. I've done it for so long ifs where I'm happiest."

"I don't believe you."

"Oh, Carl, what difference does it make? I have no position on the board, my name isn't connected with the board or the Foundation. Are we going to discuss the development company you're going to invest in?"

"I haven't said I'll do it."

"What are you waiting for? Where else will you make a quick thirteen million, Carl, with no one knowing?" She jumped up and went to the door. "I'm going home. If you want to call me..."

"Wait! Damn it, Sybiile, I didn't say..." He stood and began to pace the same path around the room Sybiile had taken earlier. "When would you need the money?"

"Early December. Two months from now. It will probably take you most of that time to raise it. Three months, if absolutely necessary. Monte is talking to the owners of the land; he could drag it out, but I don't want to go past the first of the year."

"Three months. I could manage that." He took a few more steps, then looked at her across the room. "Why would you do this for me?"

"Oh, Carl, for so many reasons. I love you; you know that. I'd do anything within my power to get you out of this."

"And?"

"It's a good match. You get a quick thirteen million profit and we can always use the extra four for spending money."

He focused on her. "And?"

After a moment, she sighed. "You'd never leave Valerie destitute. If she gets her money back, she can be on her own; she's good at that. And you can come to me with a clear conscience."

"Come to you. With a clear conscience."

"Why not?" She held her voice steady while beneath it excitement rippled through her. Sybille Sterling. Mrs. Carlton Sterling. Sybille Sterling ofSterlin£i Farms. "A straight business deal," she said, and then her voice dropped ftirther, to a husky passion. 'Tour mistakes covered up without a trace, Lily and Graceville bringing in a nice income, and the two of us together. Oh, Carl, what could be more perfect? To be together after all these months of waiting. Wonderful months," she added quickly. "The most wonderftil months of my life, when I knew that I could really love, and be loved, and not be afraid. When you helped me grow up. When you brought me to life." She paused and let the silence draw out. "I know I shouldn't be greedy; I know I should be satisfied with whatever joy I can get. But we've talked about being together, Carl, we've talked about it, and waited... so long..."

He was silent. Her voice etched itself into his thoughts like sweet acid. Yes, they'd talked about it. He dreamed about it. He fantasized about it while stocks were being analyzed, while he rode his horse, while he drove around his farm. He thought about her when he was eating, when he was dressing and undressing, when he was making love to Valerie.

"Carl," she said very softly. "Let me give you the kind of joy you've given me... a new life..." Her voice wrapped itself about him as if it were her legs twined around his hips. Everything else fell away and he gazed at her as if they had just arrived at the cottage after being separated for several days. "Sybille; Christ ifs been a week." He strode across the room and swept her up in his arms. "God, I've missed you," he said.

By Christmas, in the midst of parties and house guests, Carlton and Valerie were barely speaking to each other. Carlton was tense and withdrawn, sleeping badly, eating sporadically, and convincing himself that their frenzied schedule would keep Valerie from noticing any of it. But Valerie noticed, enough to challenge his moodiness more than once before pulling away from him. She was too busy running Sterling Farms and their entertaining to probe too deeply. She was sure he was having an affair with someone—he had been careless a few times in talking about his trips to Manhattan, and there had been other clues—

but she didn't know who it was, and didn't want to know. They had too many other things to talk about, starting with their marriage. If they ever found time, she thought: these days, the most they talked about was what time the next party would begin.

Carlton watched her lost in her own thoughts, and went into a panic. If she was angry at him for some reason she might kick him out, or demand a divorce, which would require opening up all their finances. Even if she didn't want a divorce, if she no longer felt close to him she might decide to manage her own money. He felt immobilized with fear as the days slipped through his fingers, and he and Valerie drifted farther apart. And then her mother came to visit, and he envisioned the two of them plotting together, watching him with suspicion. One of these days, they'd sit him down and demand an accounting of their finances; he could imagine the whole conversation.

His frenzy grew, so that when Valerie told him, the day before Christmas, that she wanted the two of them to get away for a while, he had no idea what she was talking about. "You don't want to be here for the holidays? Why not? What's the matter with being here?"