Intrusion: A Novel (14 page)

He didn’t answer. She turned to look at him. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady. He was already asleep.

FIFTEEN

S
arah’s voice on the phone, two days later, surprised Kat.

“I have the full adoption application for you,” Sarah said. “I think there’s a good chance. You just need Scott to agree and sign the form.”

“Oh. That might not be so easy. But thank you, Sarah.”

“What do you mean—
might not be so easy
? Scott said no?”

“He doesn’t want to talk about it right now.”

“And you can’t persuade him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He loves you. Surely, he’ll want to make you happy? You need to think out a strategy. That’s how I approach problems. How about meeting me for lunch in Beverly Hills again? We can have some more of those delicious lemon tarts.”

“I’m not sure that right now—” Kat began.

“Okay. That’s fine. We can have lunch another time. But, look, I’ll be in the Valley tomorrow, a meeting at the Warner Center. I can drop in for coffee and I’ll bring the application package so you have it at hand. I’ll bring lemon tarts with me, too. Is ten too early?”

“Ten is fine,” Kat said.

After Kat replaced the phone, she turned, gazing out into the garden. The window in the living room was open, so the sound of the sprinklers hitting the ground filled the room. The breeze moved the curtains, swirling pale ghosts against a washed-blue sky. Kat listened to the sound of the spraying water for a while.
A strategy?
She had never needed a strategy with Scott before. They had always talked so easily. Somehow, like so many other things in their lives, that had changed.

At exactly ten in the morning the following day, Kat opened the door to someone who, at first glance, looked like a stranger. Sarah, dressed in a sharply tailored navy suit and a cream silk blouse, wore her hair pulled back severely from her face and lipstick of a deep bloodred. She smiled at Kat’s surprised expression.

“You look very—executive,” Kat said.

“I know. I’m on my way to do battle in the boardroom. This is my corporate-warrior outfit.”

“Corporate warrior in killer heels. It’s very smart.”

Sarah carried a brown envelope and a white box tied with ribbon.

“Application,” she said. “Just needs signatures. When you’ve both signed, give the package back to me. I can have a messenger pick it up. And look here—lemon tarts, baby ones. Like the ones we had before.”

Kat took the envelope from her, placed it on the hall table.

“I’ll get the coffee.”

When the coffee was poured, the pastries set out on a plate, Sarah leaned across the coffee table in the living room to reach for one of the tarts. Kat did the same.

“Two bites and gone,” Sarah said, demonstrating.

“Oh, these are so good,” Kat said.

“Nectar from the gods.”

“I love the sharp lemon. Almost sour. And then the sweet.”

“That’s the joy of them.”

“I daren’t think of the calorie count.”

“If God had meant us to count calories,” Sarah said, “she would not have created lemon tarts. And so—Scott. He’s still reluctant?”

“More than reluctant. Dismissive of the whole idea.”

“He’ll come ’round. Knowing how you feel, he must—” Sarah began, and then frowned as Kat shook her head.

“He’s stubborn,” Kat said. “He’s always been stubborn.”

“All men are stubborn. They can be persuaded.”

Kat smiled then.

“The voice of experience? So tell me more about the adoptions—do they try to match prospective parents with the babies?”

“All screened carefully,” Sarah said. “They do their best to find a good fit.”

“As long as he’s healthy. That’s all that matters.”

“He?”
Sarah asked with a smile. “He or she will be healthy. I can promise you that.”

She leaned back on the sofa and delicately brushed a stray crumb from the lapel of her suit jacket.

“Must not dent this armor,” she said.

“It’s that kind of meeting?” Kat asked.

“Indeed it is.”

“You’re going alone?” Kat asked, wondering why Sarah didn’t take a couple of her executives along. Or a couple of her lawyers.

“I love going alone. One of the things I learned from Sam, over our long marriage, was the simple art of intimidation,” Sarah said.

“You were married a long time?”

“Eighteen years.”

Kat blinked, surprised, the coffee cup halfway to her mouth. Sarah must have married only a year or so after leaving the UK. She had imagined Sarah freewheeling all over Europe, living a wild, party-girl life, before she settled down. Obviously, that hadn’t happened.

“I didn’t realize you married so soon. I thought you were in Antibes. Or studying in Montpellier.”

“I was. I did. Briefly. But I couldn’t keep it up—my pitiful allowance wouldn’t even buy a
drink
in Antibes, and I hated living with Aunt Octavia. Loathsome woman, always so scared that I would steal her squat little toadstool of a husband. I couldn’t afford another semester in Montpellier, so when I met Sam I saw an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?”

“To change my life. He had everything I needed to do that.”

Sarah smiled at Kat’s quizzical look.

“He was older. Successful. Knew his way around. He taught me a lot. I wanted financial security and he married me for my breeding, as he called it. I was the original well-bred trophy wife.” Sarah gave a short laugh, reached for another lemon tart. “Ironic, really, since it turned out that I could not, in fact, breed.”

She looked over at Kat, something like anger flickering in her eyes. Kat frowned, waited.

“A consequence of that little clinic session years ago,” Sarah said. “Or the surgery that came after it.”

“Oh God. I’m sorry.”

“No matter. I was not surprised. But it was a shock to Sam.”

“He accepted it, though?” Kat asked.

“He had no choice.”

“What was he like, your husband?” Kat asked, curious now.

“Not attractive physically. Not like Scott, say. Or James. No. Not that kind of man. Short, stocky as a fire hydrant. Because he was plainspoken people assumed he was honest. He was not. He was devious, slippery in business, very focused. When he wanted something, he got it.”

Kat had the clear impression that Sarah admired these qualities.

“He suited me. I had no interest in those European playboys with their easy, inherited wealth,” Sarah said. “And I didn’t want someone clingy and besotted. We were very busy most of the time. Always traveling, always on the move.

“We never bought a house, you know. Sam liked his funds fluid, had no faith in property. We rented here, there, and everywhere. After he died, the very first thing I did, after they’d taken away all the medical equipment, the ugly hospital bed, all the nasty stuff that was littering the house, was make an offer on Ojai.”

“Oh, of course. You nursed him at home. That must have been hard.”

“It was a nightmare. He hated hospitals. Thank God for agency nurses and a sweet doctor who was not too stingy with the morphine.”

“Didn’t he have a morphine pump? Aren’t they calibrated? My mother, when she—”

“Yes, he did,” Sarah interrupted, a hard edge to her voice. “And liquid morphine, too. For bad nights. Why? Why do you ask?”

The green eyes, narrowing, had turned cold. Kat had a flash of memory of that angry face in the schoolroom all those years ago.

“Just that my mother’s morphine was calibrated,” Kat began, then added quickly, “Anyway, so you bought Ojai? It’s a beautiful house.”

Sarah nodded; her smile returned in an instant.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it? But Sam refused to buy it. When I finally, finally had control of the funds, I made them an offer—too much probably—and bought it. My first real home. Well, after Lansdowne.”

Such a strange, rootless marriage,
Kat thought as she listened to this. She could not imagine it.

“You were happy together, though? You and Sam?”

“Happy?” Sarah leaned forward, reaching again for her coffee. Kat could smell the sweet floral scent of her perfume. “We were fine. We both had little affairs, discreet ones. He preferred professional call girls—he had some rather odd sexual preferences that I didn’t share—and he never minded my dalliances so long as they didn’t involve business rivals or other powerful men. Lesser mortals were fine.

“We had a lot of parties. He liked me to dress up, flirt a little. I complained once about all those leering men, staring at my breasts, drooling, brushing against me.

“You know what Sam said?
Never mind. It’ll get easier when you get older. When you lose your looks.
”

Her laugh sounded warm and genuine. “He would have traded me in for a younger model when that happened. But I learned a lot. About business, about finance. I love that.”

“No surprise. You were a math whiz kid at school.”

“You could have got into advanced math, too, if you’d applied yourself.”

“No chance. And you’re still good at the financial stuff,” Kat said. “So Scott tells me.”

“I am. Good at the planning and scheming, the wheeling and dealing.” Sarah gave her suit jacket another light sweep with her hand. “As the gentlemen at today’s meeting will soon discover. They’re going to have to take me seriously.”

“They don’t already? Why? Because you’re a woman?”

“Oh, you have no idea. At the last meeting, I asked to see spreadsheets. The board chairman told me he would send them to my accountant. I said no, I would like to see them now, see them for myself, please. He smiled, ever so kindly, and said,
My dear, these things are very complicated.
”

Kat laughed. “He didn’t actually pat your curls and say,
Don’t you worry your pretty little head about them
?”

“Not in so many words. But yes. That was the gist of it. Well, today I have my own spreadsheets. With some of the dead wood chopped off. A nephew who does nothing but harass secretaries, a son-in-law with the IQ of an avocado. Slugs in polished shoes, both of them.

“Those two,” she said, making a decisive movement with her hand, “are for the chop.”

She paused then, surprised by a sharp rap on the door.

“You’re expecting someone?” she asked.

“No. Not at all,” Kat said, standing. “Sounds like my neighbor. It’s her knock.”

She hesitated as she headed to the door and turned, about to apologize for this interruption, but saw a shadow, a cold look of annoyance that crossed Sarah’s face. So Kat said nothing and moved forward to open the door.

Brooke stood on the step, holding a silver box half covered in cellophane. She carried it through to the hall table, talking, as always, in a breathless rush, her soft voice rising and falling in a musical cadence.

“I’m racing, sweet pea, but look what I found. Home spa! It’s got oil and a candle and just about everything. Oh, and the best hair conditioner. Leave it on for five minutes while you soak.”

She leaned forward, lifted a strand of Kat’s hair, and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger.

“Okay. It’s still a
little
bit dry. Leave it on for ten.”

“Brooke. Thank you, but—”

“It’s nothing. It was all on sale. And jeez, I’m sorry about the hideous color of that little headband. It said magenta on the package, but I had a peek and it’s the color of those awful lawn ornaments in Florida. Flamingo? Flamingo pink? You’ll look like a teenager.”

She laughed, touching Kat’s arm gently.

“And listen. My new gardener. Have you seen him? He has
muscles
. And he’s handy, too. Does Scott still need someone to fix that awning out back? This guy could do it. I’ll send him over. Well, he’s fixed the pool pump. And the heater. It’ll stay warm for a couple of days if Scott wants a swim. Does he still have the key? You know how he—”

She stopped speaking then, finally aware of Sarah, who was watching, with an amused expression, from the sofa.

“Oh my God. You’ve got company. I’m so sorry,” Brooke said. She looked over at Sarah and waved. “Hi there. Sorry to come barging in like this.”

“This is Sarah. An old school friend,” Kat said. Sarah lifted her hand in acknowledgment but did not stand.

“Hello, Sarah,” Brooke said, her smile blazing.

“Sarah, this is Brooke,” said Kat. “My friend and neighbor and an incorrigible bringer of gifts.”

“How very sweet,” Sarah said. “Pleased to meet you, Brooke.”

“Oh, I just love your accent!” Brooke said. “Look, sorry to interrupt. We’re not filming until later and I thought I could just race this stuff over to Kat.”

“Filming? Ah, you’re an actress?” Sarah asked.

“Oh no. God, no. Advertising. We’re filming a commercial.”

“Interesting.”

“It’s fun. Most days.”

Sarah lifted her coffee cup, regarded Brooke over the brim of it. Kat imagined the two women conducting the fast assessment that those interested in fashion and status do when they first meet: Brooke guessing the designer of Sarah’s business suit, noting the diamond studs in her ears; Sarah taking in Brooke’s silk blouse, the neckline a little too low, the shimmering bronze of her lipstick.

Sarah soon looked away and put down her cup in a slow, deliberate manner. It was a subtle dismissal, but Brooke picked up on it immediately and turned back to Kat with a grin.