No Reservations Required (9 page)

15

Chris carried a breakfast tray into the bedroom and set it on the bed, then crawled back in, snuggling down next to Phil. He’d fallen asleep while she was in the kitchen making them scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, but as soon as she touched him, he woke and turned around to encircle her with his arms.

“Good morning, Mr. Banks,” said Chris, happier than she’d ever been in her life. And it was all Phil’s doing.

Yesterday had been a whirlwind. Right after the detective left, Phil had gone out, saying he had some business to take care of and would be back in a couple of hours. But he hadn’t returned until nearly four. Chris called her mother and talked to her for a while. Her mom never failed to remind Chris that she’d made a big mistake, moving into Phil’s house so fast. Chris told her it was
her
life, and that she trusted Phil. She loved him and he loved her. That’s what mattered. Chris could still hear her mother’s words. “But he’s old enough to be your father, honey. And he’s been married twice before. You’ll never get what you really want from a man like that.”

Chris lied, said that marriage wasn’t important to her. So what if Phil wasn’t interested in marriage anymore? Was that so odd? He’d been burned twice. He took the blame for both of his failed relationships, said his wives were good women, it just didn’t work out. But Chris knew the truth. Both his ex-wives were terrible people, selfish and slutty women who didn’t deserve a man like Phil. She knew because, every now and then, he’d let something slip about one of them. She tried to make her mother understand. Phil had been unlucky in love—until now.

Her mother always countered with the same old warning: if a man has been that unlucky in love, there has to be a reason, and it can’t always be the other person’s fault.

But Chris knew that’s exactly what it was. Phil was simply too good for his first two wives. They took advantage of him, took him for granted. They used him and then kicked him out, hoping to get big fat settlements. But Phil had outsmarted them. That’s why they were so mad, even now, after many years of being apart. He said that sometimes his two ex-wives scared him. They both had a violent streak. How could they be so blind? thought Chris. Phil was handsome, smart, funny, charming beyond belief, and he was incredibly sensitive. He cried sometimes after they made love. He said he was so grateful he’d found her. He’d almost given up hope of ever finding any lasting happiness in life.

When he finally returned home yesterday afternoon, he sat Chris on the couch. Again, he told her he loved her and that he couldn’t imagine a life without her. And to prove it to her, he handed her a huge diamond engagement ring. And then he asked her to marry him.

Chris wanted to shout for joy, to call her mother and tell her she was
wrong wrong wrong.
Her mind went into overdrive, imagining the wedding they would have, all the guests they would invite.

But Phil said no. They needed to be married right away. Now that he’d realized how pigheaded he’d been, he wanted to rectify the situation. He needed her to be his wife, no prenups, no lawyers, just the two of them and a judge—a friend of his. He told her to go upstairs, put on her prettiest dress, and get ready to become Mrs. Phil Banks.

Chris was disappointed. She tried hard to hide it, to act like this was what she wanted, too. She’d always dreamed of a wedding at the St. Paul Cathedral, with her brother there to give her away, maybe her uncle Vincent as one of the groomsmen. She imagined her husband-to-be in a handsome morning coat, lifting her veil after they’d said their “I dos” and kissing her with such passion that it made all the women in the church wish they were her. The sanctuary would be filled with flowers, and then afterward, they’d have a big wedding dinner, gorgeous catered food that she and her mother would agonize over for months. Maybe there would even be a rock band, or better yet, a country-western one, something fun for entertainment and dancing. And finally, the wedding night. It would all be so incredible.

In the end, they were married in the living room of Judge Warren Wilson’s home. He was a high school buddy of Phil’s and lived in Edina. It was a nice enough house, but not exactly a cathedral. His wife had played several classical pieces on the piano, and Phil slipped a simple gold band on her left hand before he kissed her. She’d been right about the passion in his kiss. But instead of a fancy hotel, they went home and made love. Phil had covered their bed with red rose petals. He was trying to please her. He simply wasn’t the kind of man who liked everything planned out. She would just have to get used to it. On the way home, he’d bought a bottle of French champagne to celebrate with, and while they were drinking it, they’d ordered a pizza. All in all, her wedding had been crazy and silly, even a little tacky at times, but also meaningful and loving, something she’d remember until her dying day.

“Good morning to you,
Mrs.
Banks,” said Phil, pulling the breakfast tray closer to him. “What should we do today?” He picked up a slice of toast, gave her the first bite, then finished it. “I know I didn’t say anything about a honeymoon. That’s because I’m not sure when I can get away. Actually, I should probably go in to work this morning and look at my schedule. Then we can talk about it. Hey, we could rent a yacht and sail the Caribbean. Have you ever been on a yacht?”

She shook her head.

“Think you’d like it?”

“Sure!”

“Or,” he said, kissing the side of her neck, “we could fly to Paris for a few days, then head south and spend some time on the Riviera.”

Her eyes were filled with stars. She never thought she’d ever have enough money to do anything like that.

“Well, we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

She laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“
Mrs.
Banks.”

He tipped her chin up and kissed her softly. “I adore you,
Mrs.
Banks. Get used to it. You’re going to hear that a lot from now on.”

The moment Phil left, Chris was on the phone to her mother. But her mother wasn’t home. This wasn’t the kind of news you left on an answering machine, so she decided to call back later. Or maybe she’d stop by her mom’s apartment, tell her in person. And if she did that, she could show off her new rings.

Chris was still sitting with the phone in her hand when it rang. Thinking it might be Phil, she answered it without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Phil Banks, please.” It was a male voice. One she didn’t recognize.

“He’s not here. But I’m his wife. Can I take a message?”

“His wife, huh? What’s your name?”

“Chris.”

“So tell me, Christine—it
is
Christine, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I prefer Chris.”

“What’s Phil’s cell phone number?”

She didn’t like the man’s tone. Phil had told her more than once never to give strangers information about him. “He’s out. That’s all I can say.”

“Out where? Is he at work? I tried over there a few minutes ago and he wasn’t in.”

“Who’s calling?”

“When will he be back?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re his wife and you don’t know when he’ll be back?”

Now she was getting angry. “Look, if you’d like to leave a message—”

“Okay, okay. Don’t get all hot and bothered. Just tell your husband
Del
called. Oh, and while you’re at it, tell him I know what he’s got stored on Old Mill Road. That should get his attention. If he doesn’t want other people to find out, he better be home the next time I call.”

“What’s on Old Mill Road?”

“Gee, Christine. I don’t know. I can’t say. I have temporary amnesia, just like you.”

“What do you want?”

“Actually, to give you a small warning. Be careful, Christine. Your husband’s not a nice man. In fact, he’s a very very
bad
man.”

“What do you mean?”

But it was too late. He’d already hung up.

16

Sophie spent the next couple of hours in her office at the Maxfield. The work stacked up on her desk was enough to keep her busy for the next year, but Rudy phoned around ten and said that Andy had called a full staff meeting for all newspaper employees at eleven. He figured it was something Sophie might not want to miss.

He was right. She quickly returned to her apartment, changed into her power clothes—fitted black skirt and blazer, and three-inch heels, the shoes that helped her feel less like a shrimpy twelve-year-old and more like a mature woman. She retouched her makeup, fluffed her short strawberry blond hair and put in her gold hoop earrings. After spritzing herself with her favorite perfume, she was ready to deal with anything the day could throw at her.

The drive to Minneapolis took just over ten minutes. After parking her Lexus in the lot across from the Times Register Tower and entering through the glass front doors, Sophie was surprised to find Nathan sitting in one of the chairs directly across from the elevators.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, backing up as he stood and walked toward her.

“Sophie, we’ve got to talk. You have to let me apologize about yesterday.” He seemed truly distraught.

He was wearing a chef’s coat and jeans. He looked tall and rough, just as he always did. And he’d recently regrown his beard. “Did you drive all the way here from your restaurant?”

“I had to. I couldn’t stop thinking about last night, that I made an ass of myself when we spoke.”

“Did you ask Elaine to marry you?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t look happy.

“Did she say yes?”

He nodded. “Do you forgive me?”

“Nathan, forget about me. I’m not mad at you. Enjoy your engagement to Elaine. That’s what you should be concentrating on now.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.”

“I just wish you hadn’t involved Bram’s daughter in your wedding plans.”

“Do you?”

“I thought I made that clear.”

“But she’s a wedding planner, Sophie. Why not use her?”

“Because she’s Bram’s daughter. Don’t you get it? We need to separate our lives, not interweave them. There are tons of good wedding planners out there.”

“Yeah, but I thought . . . I mean, since you and Elaine are good friends, and since her mother is gone now, I thought you’d want to help her with some of the planning. And if I hired Margie, it would only make it that much easier all the way around.”

Where did he get these ideas? “Nathan, you’ve got to listen to me.” She pulled him aside, away from the elevators. “Are you listening now? Really listening?”

“Don’t treat me like a four-year-old.”

He could be so exasperating sometimes. She might have found it endearing once, but she didn’t anymore. “I love my husband, and it upsets him when my old boyfriend seems to be continually hovering around me. That’s why we have to put a stop to it. We can’t see each other, not even casually. I won’t be eating at your restaurant again. And you can’t stop by the Maxfield anymore, okay? Do you understand? You can’t call. We have to live separate lives.”

Grudgingly, he nodded.

Watching him, she had a chilling sense that this was all for show, that he was marrying Elaine not out of love, not with the intent to end his relationship with Sophie, but as a way to keep it going. Elaine was just a means to that end. “Do you really want to marry Elaine?”

“Sure.”

“Nathan? Look at me.”

He didn’t seem to want to look her in the eye.

“What?” he mumbled.

“Why do you want to marry Elaine?”

“I care about her. She’s a wonderful woman.”

“Really?”

“You think I’m lying?”

Sophie wasn’t sure anymore. “Are we clear on this? On our living separate lives?”

“You want me to fire Margie?”

“No.” She sighed. “That would only cause more problems. But I won’t be helping Elaine with your wedding. I wish you two only happiness, Nathan. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do. You’re the greatest person I’ve ever known. And don’t worry. I’ll make sure you and Bram get a wedding invitation. Maybe you two would like to sit at the head table with us.”

For some reason, he wasn’t tracking. He just didn’t seem to get it. But standing here arguing with him wasn’t doing any good. Sophie glanced at her watch. It was already after eleven. If she didn’t get up to the auditorium on the fourth floor, she’d miss the meeting. “Nathan, I need to get upstairs.”

“But . . . I was hoping you’d have time for a cup of coffee.”

He hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

“Don’t look at me like that, Sophie. I understand. I was just hoping we could have a civil conversation. Just one last time.”

“I’ve got a meeting.”

“Okay. I suppose I should get back to the restaurant. I shouldn’t have left, but I had to see you.” He bent his head close to hers.

She backed up, but before she realized what was happening, he’d kissed her square on the lips.

“Nathan!”

“I’m a cad. What can I say?” He grinned and then took off out the glass front doors.

By the time Sophie reached the auditorium, it was standing room only. She pushed into the back and leaned her shoulder against the wall. With her diminutive height, there was no hope of being able to see over the tall shoulders in front of her, so she closed her eyes and listened. Andy was talking.

“Public speaking isn’t one of my strong points, so I’m going to make this short and to the point. I know that a number of you have been worried about staff changes. I’ll address that first. I don’t plan to make any changes right now in the daily running of the paper, and that includes the staff. The
Minneapolis
Times Register
is one of the finest daily papers in the country, and with your help, I hope to make sure it remains that way. I subscribe to the simple notion, If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. I know that may be a little folksy for some of you, and I suppose I could find a more sophisticated way to phrase it, but that’s the bottom line.

“As for Del Irazarian, I accepted his resignation yesterday afternoon. He is no longer employed by this paper, and I hope to God that no other newspaper in this country will ever employ him again. As you all know, we printed a series of retractions this morning concerning two of his series, as well as apologies. I was Del’s editor when the stories were published. For the record, let me just say that although I’ve always discouraged the use of anonymous sources, sometimes it’s the only way to get the story. In Mr. Irazarian’s case, it was a judgment call. I believe my failure was in trusting a man I felt was not only scrupulously honest, but brilliant. The matter has been turned over to our legal department. Let me assure you, and I underscore this, that the only one who will take a bullet for this debacle is Mr. Irazarian himself. I’d like to tell you this will never happen again, but I suspect that, in the long run, newspapers are and will always remain at the mercy of clever liars.”

From the rear of the audience, a man’s voice shouted, “What about the rumor that federal prosecutors are considering filing criminal charges against Irazarian?”

Andy waited until the murmurs quieted down before answering. “To my knowledge, that hasn’t happened, nor do I expect that it will.”

A woman’s voice rose, this time from the front of the crowd. “The
New York Times
appointed several ombudsmen to handle the fallout from the Jayson Blair scandal. Will you do the same?”

Andy quickly responded, “I’ve spoken with Dean Peterson. You all know and respect him. For a trial period of six months, he will serve as our new standards editor, a sort of internal ethics czar. As the new publisher, I plan to work closely with him in an effort to make sure this kind of scandal never happens again on my watch. I also plan to appoint a twelve-person committee to look into the atmosphere and attitudes in our newsroom. I realize that what Mr. Irazarian did to the paper will have some far-reaching effects. It’s a shock to our system, to our morale, and to our reputation. But it also presents us with an opportunity to change old ways of doing business that no longer work. Mr. Peterson’s door will always be open to you, as will mine. I intend to be a very hands-on publisher.”

Sophie wondered if this comment was a veiled slam at Bob Fabian’s management style, one that tended to spread out authority, not keep all power at the top.

“I realize that we may have some flawed structures and processes at the
Times Register.
Since I came to the paper two years ago, I’ve often heard people talk about editors’ failure to communicate. I’ve also been told that staffers have felt intimidated, afraid to speak out. That’s something I want to change.”

The crowd broke into cheers and applause.

“We have an amazing amount of talent at this paper, and I want to use it, not stifle it.”

More applause.

After a few parting comments, it was over. Sophie backed out of the doorway and stood to the side as people walked out. Everyone seemed pleased that Andy had come to them directly to discuss what had happened. In all Sophie’s years at the paper, she’d never known Bob Fabian to call a meeting like this. Then again, he’d never been faced with this kind of scandal. Still, in Sophie’s opinion, Andy had ignored some serious issues. He’d mentioned that Del Irazarian had used anonymous sources, but he never talked about the nonexistent studies Del had cited again and again—studies that, if Andy had taken the time to verify them, would have landed the articles in the trash. A big question mark still floated above Andy’s head. Why had he let it happen? He certainly knew better. As owner of the paper, he would try to sweep his part in it under the rug now, but the taste would still remain. In many ways, Andy was as culpable as Irazarian, and everyone knew it. But he’d just been handed the keys to the kingdom. All power resided in him, so nobody would challenge him outright. The grumbling and anger would move underground.

Sophie looked for Rudy, but when she couldn’t find him, she assumed he’d ducked out one of the side doors. She’d catch him later.

On her way back to her car, Sophie pushed out through the front doors just as Andy was about to get into a waiting limo.

“Sophie, hi,” he said, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze. “What did you think?”

He’d put her on the spot. Just as everyone else probably had, she told him what he wanted to hear. “It was a good speech.” It wasn’t a lie, just not the entire story.

He nodded. “Thanks. Hey, since you’re here, I should thank you for being understanding about Anika taking time off from her job at the Maxfield.”

“Not a problem.”

“Our lives have changed so much so fast. Actually, I’m not sure Anika will return. There’s no reason now. We have more money than we’ll ever need. Who would have thought, huh?”

“Life never runs in a straight line.”

“No.” His expression darkened. “If you read the St. Paul paper this morning, you’d probably find yourself wondering if I was the one who shot my brother.”

“I read the story,” said Sophie.

“But that 911 tape doesn’t prove anything. Not really.”

“No.”

“I would never have hurt my brother. I respected and loved him probably more than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Did the police talk to you?”

“Yeah, the day after it happened. I was a basket case. But thankfully, Anika and I were together the night Bob died, so I had an alibi. It disgusts me to even think I needed one.”

Sophie’s ears pricked up. “You and Anika were together that entire night?” She knew it was a lie.

“Yup. Just think, I could have been out driving around with no alibi at all, and then where would I be?”

“Where indeed,” said Sophie.

“Well, sorry to run off, but I’ve got a meeting down in Hastings. I don’t want to be late.”

“Give my love to Anika.”

“I will. And thanks again, Sophie. You’re a good friend.”