Breath of Scandal (19 page)

Dillon didn't understand a word of it. He shook the strip of wiring at the man's face. "This isn't what I ordered. Where'd you get it?"

One of the electricians spoke a smattering of English. He tapped Dillon's arm. Dillon angrily spun around. "What?" The man pointed toward the stacked spools of wiring. After a brief inspection, Dillon addressed the men now standing idle. "Don't install any more of this shit. Got that?" The man who had been serving as interpreter conveyed the message to the others.

Lifting one of the heavy spools onto his shoulder, Dillon used the service elevator to get to the ground floor, then

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barged through the door of the trailer. Haskell, seated at his computer terminal, jumped reflexively at the sudden interruption. When he saw Dillon, he frowned in disapproval of his barbaric behavior.

-I want to know what the hell this is. " The reel of conduit landed on top of Haskell's desk with a solid thud. He sent his desk chair flying backward on its casters.

"What do you think you're doing?" he squealed. "Get that thing off my desk."

Dillon braced his hands on either side of the metal spool and leaned over it. "Listen to me, you little shit, I'm going to make you cat every foot of this worthless stuff if you don't come across with a full explanation of why you didn't buy what I wrote on the purchase order months ago. You've got ten seconds."

"The wiring you ordered was three times as expensive as this," Haskell said, having recovered some equanimity. "The wiring I ordered is three times as good and three times as safe."

"This meets local building codes."

"It doesn't meet mine," Dillon said through clenched teeth.

"If I didn't know it was sufficient-"

"You don't know jackshit. This building is going to be filled with all types of sophisticated electronics. To avoid catastrophe, it's got to have the best possible wiring. "

Dillon grabbed the telephone and dropped it into the unsuspecting accountant's lap. "Now, get your skinny ass on the phone and place the order I originally sent in. I want the materials delivered no later than noon tomorrow, or I'm going to send every one of those electricians with nothing to do in here to jerk off on your desk."

The telephone clattered to the floor as Haskell shot to his feet. "You can't talk to me like that."

"I just have. " Dillon nodded down at the telephone. "You're wasting time. Do it."

"I won't. It's my responsibility to see that we keep expenses down. "

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"I agree, as long as it doesn't compro ise the integrity of the building. In this instance, it does."T

"The wiring I ordered is sufficient and, according to the local government, safe."

"Well, according to Dillon Burke, it's crap. I won't install it in my building."

"Your building?" Haskell said with a supercilious smile. "Just order the wiring I requested, Scanlan."

"No. I I

Dillon liked harmony as well as the next man, and he avoided confrontation whenever he could. But he wasn't about to lower his standards on his first project. Nor was he willing to go to Pilot again. Pilot had already told him to take charge.

"Either get on the telephone now," he said calmly, I or you're fired."

Haskell's pointed jaw fell open. "You can,t fire me.f "The hell I can't."

"Oh Yeah? We'll see what Mr. Pilot has to say about it.- "I'm sure we will. In the meantime, consider yourself off this project. And, unless you want me to pound the crap out of your face, I suggest you stay away from me until You're gone for good.

Debra's adversary was boredom. Their tint few months in France, she had occupied herself with decorating the apartment on a shoestring budget and had succeeded as far as the limitations of the building permitted.

They had discussed the possibility of her getting a job, but it wasn't feasible. There were no openings for teachers in the English-speaking schools, and shopkeepers preferred to him their own rather than employ an American. So Aw wiled away the daytime hours b reading, strolling the nary

row, quaint streets, and writing long letters to her many relatives. Although she tried to hide it from Dillon, she became homesick and listless. She had to forcibly stave off depression.

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Her pregnancy rejuvenated her. She suffered no unpleasant side effects and swore she had never felt better. She was imbued with energy. Daily, she and Dillon marveled over the subtle changes in her body. This new kind of intimacy deepened their love for each other.

To help pass the time until the baby came, she enrolled in a cooking class that was held within walking distance Of the apartment. There were four other women in the class and two men, all of retirement age. They, along with the grandmotherly chef, fussed over her like mother hens. Afterward her days were spent either in class or in her tiny apartment kitchen practicing what she had learned, or shopping in the neighborhood markets for the ingredients necessary to audition her culinary skills for Dillon. She would arrive home with her arms loaded with purchases and take them up by the creaky elevator that Dillon had forbidden her to use.

That particular afternoon she almost got caught, arriving home only moments before he did. Immediately he hugged her and planted a firm kiss on her cold lips. Then, grinning, he released her and said, "Let's go to Switzerland." "Switzerland?"

"Yeah, you know, one of the countries that shares a border with France-goats and Heidi, Alps and snow, yodo-la-dee-ho. "

"Of course I know Switzerland. Remember our weekend in Geneva?"

"Was that where our room had the mirror on the ceiling. "So you do remember."

"How could I forget?" he growled, reaching for her again. Their mouths melded into a kiss.

"We don't need miffors on the ceiling," she whispered when they finally pulled apart.

"But I need to get out of town and celebrate." "Celebrate what?"

"I fired Haskell Scanlan today." Debra's smiled faltered.

Dillon told her what had happened. "I hated like hell having to go to that extreme, but he left me no choice."

He studied her worried expression. "You don't think I did the right thing?"

"I think you did exactly the fight thing. Unfortunately, my opinion doesn't carry as much weight as Forrest G. Pilot's. "

"That's why I want to leave for Switzerland tonight. if he agrees with my decision, we'll have had a terrific weekend in the Alps. If he reverses it, I'll have to quit on principal, in which case we can no longer afford a trip to Switzerland. And if he fires me, the above is also true. So, while I'm still gainfully employed and feeling as good as I do, let's say to hell with everything else and go."

They took an express train to Lausanne and another to Zermatt. They joked with students, chatted with a grandmother from Montreux who was knitting a cap for her tenth grandchild, and snacked on the food Debra had had the foresight to bring along.

Dillon drank strong red wine from a bota one of the students offered him, but declined to take a toke of marijuana. When the couple sitting across from them began to neck, Dillon and Debra asked each other why not, and cuddled and kissed until they fell asleep.

In Zermatt, Dillon skied the expert slopes. Debra's pregnancy prohibited her from that, so she consoled herself by browsing in the glitzy shops and watching the endless parade of jetsetters. Together she and Dillon rode in a horse-drawn sleigh and watched skaters gliding on silver blades across a frozen pond. They gorged on cheese fondue, thick, dark bread, white wine, and Swiss chocolate,

During the train fide home, Dillon pulled her against him and tucked her head beneath his chin. "This was our real honeymoon. "

"What was wrong with our trip to Bermuda?" "Absolutely nothing. But then you were merely my bride. Now you're my wife." He slipped his hand into her coat and laid it on her swollen belly, "I love you."

While they were waiting to switch trains in Lausanne, she bought a tin of aspirin. "What's wrong?" he asked. "My throat's getting sore."

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She slept fitfully for the remainder of the trip to Paris and was frequently awakened by chills. "It hurts to swallow," she complained -

Dillon pressed his hand against her forehead. "You're burning up. Better take some more aspirin."

-I hate to without asking the doctor first. Aspirin might not be good for the baby - "                           ed, alBy the time they reached Paris, Dillon was worri

though Debra assured him that her sore throat was simply the result of her exposure to mountain air. He fought Monday morning rush-hour traffic to get her to her obstetrician, and they reached his office just as it was opening. The nurse, with kindness and concern, guided Debra into an examination room and asked Dillon to wait outside. He didn't like it, but he waited. After several waiting patients averted their eyes, he realized he must look like a reprobate. He hadn't shaved during their trip and had spent a virtually sleepless night on the train.

Finally, he was ushered into the doctor's private office.

16Madame Burke has a very nasty throat," he said in heavily accented English. -l-- He made a swabbing motion.

"He took a culture," Debra said with a grimace. "Strep?" Dillon asked. "No offense, Dr. Gaultier, but if it's that serious, maybe you should recommend a specialist. "

"I agree," he said, giving a brief nod. "Let us await the lab results. We should know by tomorrow."

"I'm sure it'll be all right," Debra assured her worried husband. "He prescribed an antibiotic. I'll stay in bed today and let you wait on me hand and foot."

Dillon tried to return her smile, but she looked so ill that he couldn't find anything to smile about. He saw her into their apartment and got her into bed before running two blocks to the nearest pharmacy to have the prescription filled. She swallowed the capsule and drank a cup of tea before lapsing into a deep sleep.

Only then did Dillon remember to call the work site. He spoke to the foreman he had placed in temporary charge

before leaving the previous Friday. The Frenchman convinced him that everything was all right and urged him to stay at home with his ailing wife. Throughout the long day, he sat at Debra's bedside, taking catnaps in the chair, waking her only when it was time for her medicine.

In spite of her fever and discomfort, she managed to quip jokes when he carried her into the bathroom to relieve herself. "Good thing this didn't happen in my ninth month. You wouldn't be able to lift me."

Dillon ate a sandwich for supper, but couldn't coax her to take any more than a cup of beef bouillon. "My throat's already feeling better, though," she told him. "I'm just very weak. A good night's sleep is all I need. You look like you could use one, too," she said, running her hand over his bearded chin.

After giving her her medicine, he undressed and got into bed with her. Exhausted, he fell asleep as soon as he lay down.

During the night he awakened. Squinting through the darkness, he consulted the clock on the nightstand. It was time to give Debra another capsule. He switched on the lamp.

And screamed.

Debra's lips were blue, and she lay very still.

"Oh, God! Oh, Jesus! Debra! Debra!" He threw his leg over her and straddled her thighs. He flattened his ear against her breasts. He sobbed with relief when he heard her heartbeat. But it was faint. She was barely breathing.

Dillon leaped from the bed and pulled on his clothes, fastening none of them. He crammed his bare feet into sneakers. Gathering Debra in his arms, blankets and all, he ran through the dark apartment and burst into the hallway. He descended the stairs at a treacherous pace. Should he summon an ambulance or drive her to the hospital himself? He finally opted for the latter, reasoning that by the time he located the number and, with his limited French, conveyed the urgency of the situation, it might be too late.

"God, no, no." A strong wind tore the words from his

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mouth as he raced from the building to his parked car. He deposited Debra in the front seat. She slumped to one side, and again his voice cracked on a rough prayer.

He knew approximately where the nearest hospital was located and sped off in that direction. The tires screeched on the pavement and echoed off silent buildings as the car careened around street comers. He steered with his left hand while massaging Debra's wrist with his right. He kept up a running chatter about how he would never forgive her if she died.

The emergency-room staff instantly discerned the seriousness of her condition and whisked her away on a gumey. Dillon had to run to catch up. At a door marked with words he couldn't read, he was barred entrance by people he couldn't understand. He fought them off and tried to lunge through the doors after the gumey. Eventually he was restrained and bodily removed to the waiting room, where an English-speaking nurse threatened him with expulsion from the hospital if he didn't calm down.

"Calm?" he cried hoarsely. "My wife looks like death, and you expect me to be calm? I want to be with her." She remained firm and finally talked him through the

various forms that had to be filled out for admittance to the hospital. Then, left alone, Dillon paced until he was too weary and distraught to take another step and dropped into a chair.

He hung his head, pressing his thumbs deeply into his eyesockets and praying to a god he wasn't convinced existed but paradoxically mistrusted. What else would this selfish deity claim from him? Hadn't he given up enough? Everyone he had ever loved had been taken away from him: his parents, his granny, the counselor at the reform school who had taken a special interest in him.

He was jinxed. People, beware. Ifyou love Dillon Burke, you die.

"No, no," he groaned. "Not Debra. Please, not Debra. Don't take her, you stingy son of a bitch."

He bargained with the unseen power, vowing to sacrifice anything if Debra could be spared. He promised to live a