Precious Gifts (20 page)

“Can he win?” Aidan asked her.

“I doubt it. And the girls won't settle with him. Only the lawyers will win. It will cost a fortune to defend, and he's probably using a contingency lawyer, which will cost him nothing unless he wins.”

“Sick system,” Aidan said with a disgusted look.

She looked at him mournfully then. “The girls want me to come home. I hate to leave you again so soon.”

“Then don't. They're adults. Let them work it out for themselves.” He looked disappointed that she wanted to leave.

“I can't tell them to ‘sod off,' Aidan,” she said gently. “They're my kids. And he's suing me, too. I should probably go back to New York, meet with the lawyers, and see what's going on. They're hiring a litigator, and I should meet him. I can come back to Europe afterward.” She didn't invite him to New York, as she preferred to be with him where her daughters wouldn't intrude on them, or discover him, yet. They could work that out later, but this wasn't the right time with everyone still upset over Paul, and now Bertie. And the idea of their mother having a man in her life would be shocking and new to them. She had no illusions about that. “Will you come to Paris when I get back?” They could have a wonderful time there. He nodded but looked like an abandoned child. It was a sweet side of him that she loved, where none of the porcupine quills he occasionally exhibited were in sight. And she sensed that he had abandonment issues because of his mother's death when he was so young, although he never mentioned it again after he first told her. It was a painful subject.

“What about going to London with me now?” he asked her with a pleading look. “You could leave from there.” She thought about it for a minute and nodded, and he looked pleased. He wanted to show her his studio, his apartment, and his world there. Until now they had only traveled together, and he wanted to introduce her to his daily life. She would have liked to do the same, but didn't know how. Except in Paris, when she was alone. New York would be much harder, because of the girls. And she had more freedom in Paris to do whatever she wanted. Her maternal leash was shorter in New York, which he didn't understand, having no kids of his own. Aidan could do whatever he wanted. And he thought she was babying the girls by going back.

“They're grown women, let them work it out,” he repeated as they packed. They had decided to skip dinner at the Borchardt, and drive back to London that night. He had finished in Berlin.

“That's my job, Aidan. You're a mother forever, even when they're grown up.” His parents clearly hadn't felt that way. And the concept was foreign to him.

“They need to stand on their own.” He was adamant about it in the school of “sod off,” which had become a joke between them. But most of the time he meant it. It just wasn't Véronique's style.

Aidan called Karl, thanked him for the terrific show, and told him he was leaving, and Karl promised to be in touch over further sales, museum inquiries, or whatever came up. And his rep had gone back to New York the morning after the show. They drove nearly to Antwerp that night in the now-familiar Austin-Healey. They stayed at a small inn, and got up early the next morning to press on.

And on the drive to London the next day, Véronique took a turn at the wheel and loved it. They reached the English Channel near Calais at Coquelles and put the Austin on the train for the thirty-five-minute crossing, going through the “Chunnel.” They had breakfast on the train and finished just as they reached Folkestone, and they went back to the car. It took them another two hours to reach London, and they went to Notting Hill. He lived in a loft there filled with camera equipment and treasures he had collected on his travels. As they walked in, Véronique saw that it looked decidedly like the home of a bachelor, with sweaters tossed on the couch, no food in the fridge, and the bed still unmade from when he had left. He said he had a cleaning woman who came from time to time, but he had forgotten to call her. But despite the disorder, it had a warm, cozy feeling, and a potbellied stove in one corner. He confessed that the place was freezing in winter, but he didn't mind. And she liked the neighborhood when they went out together to buy groceries. He was out of everything, including coffee, and they bought fish and chips, which they agreed were awful but which they both loved. They spread it out on newspaper to absorb the grease and dusted it with vinegar and salt.

“Mmmm…it's so good,” Véronique said with a grimace, and he snapped a picture of her while he laughed. Being with her made every place he was better, and he told her in bed that night how much he would miss her. She had agreed to spend two days in London with him, and after that she thought she should leave. She had heard from Juliette and Joy by then, too, and they were as upset as Timmie about the lawsuit Bertie was threatening to bring against them. And she'd had a frantic call from Elisabeth Marnier, who was also panicked about it. Véronique reassured her that it would probably come to nothing, and that Sophie's position was secure, since her father had acknowledged her as his daughter in the will. It was just a vehicle Bertie was using to try and get money, and Véronique didn't think he'd be successful. She promised to keep Elisabeth informed from New York, and told her not to worry. Elisabeth felt better after talking to Véronique, which seemed ironic to both of them. In the end, Paul had left them to take care of each other and his children, and he had skipped out. It was so like him.

Véronique spent the next two days totally focused on being with Aidan. They went to the Tate Modern, and the Victoria and Albert Museum, and all his favorite galleries. They lay in his bed, after Véronique helped him clean the apartment and change the sheets. They cooked dinner together one night, and on the last night he took her out. She wanted to take him to Harry's Bar, where she was still a member, to compare it to the one in Venice, but it was much more formal in London, and a club, and neither of them wanted to get dressed up. They just wanted to relax with each other, do fun things, and make love. She felt as though they were storing up their time together for the lonely days ahead. She knew she would miss him a lot, and he said the same. Neither of them could imagine a time now when the other hadn't been in their life. This seemed so normal and natural that her own home and her daughters seemed like strangers to her. Wherever Aidan was felt like home to her now.

The morning she left, she stuck a Post-it on his bathroom mirror, reminding him that she loved him, for him to find later. And they could hardly tear themselves away from each other at the airport.

“I'll be back soon. I promise,” she said as they kissed. He already looked bereft. “I'll meet you in Paris as soon as I can.” It was the next stop in their discovery of each other's worlds. And like Venice, Florence, and Berlin, London had been a success. She felt totally at ease with him, and enjoyed his apartment. She hoped he would like her place on the Île St. Louis as much. But he had already said he loved Paris, so she wasn't worried.

He made her promise to call as soon as she landed, and they kissed one last time as people walked around them, and then she finally went through security and waved until they couldn't see each other any longer. And with a heavy heart at the thought of leaving him, Véronique boarded the plane to New York.

W
hen Timmie walked into Arnold Sands's office to meet the litigator he had hired for them, she didn't know what to expect. She knew his name was Brian McCarthy, he'd gone to Harvard, and he had an incredible reputation for winning almost every case. Arnold didn't think Bertie's case would be a hard one to beat. He admitted that hiring Brian McCarthy to do the job might be overkill, but he said that Brian representing them would terrify Bertie's lawyer, and might even get him to drop the suit. He had Brian as a bulldog, and Timmie liked the idea of him terrorizing Bertie and his contingency lawyer. In her opinion, they deserved it, and she wanted to unleash the wrath of the gods on them, and the vengeance of all four sisters. From everything Arnold said, it sounded like Brian McCarthy was the man to do the job.

He was already waiting in Arnold's office when Timmie arrived. Arnold gave her a warm hug and introduced Brian, who looked nothing like Timmie had expected. She had expected him to look somewhat like Arnold. Instead he looked like a quarterback for the Green Bay Packers, or an offensive tackle, or a tree. He stood six feet six, with shoulders that could have filled the doorway. He had a handsome face, but a fiery look in his eyes, as though bar fights weren't unfamiliar to him, and he had green eyes like hers, and bright red hair. He looked Irish to the core. Arnold had neglected to tell her that he'd been captain of the football team at Harvard, and had turned down a career in the NFL to practice law. He had a warm smile, but he looked tough as nails, and she was a little taken aback, if nothing else because of his size. He was huge. Timmie was a tall girl at six feet, but she felt like a midget next to him. And he weighed easily 250 pounds. He wasn't fat, he was solid. And he began speaking right away, about what he thought of her brother's lawsuit, and how he had behaved. Timmie just sat there and smiled, amused.

“Something funny?” he asked her, seeming puzzled. He was quick, tough, direct, and pulled no punches.

“Sorry, I was just thinking that my brother is going to faint when he sees you, and squeal like a little pig.” She loved the idea, and Brian grinned. Although Arnold had warned him that Timmie could be difficult, he saw no sign of it so far. She was supposedly a strong-headed woman, but Brian could handle that. She didn't scare him.

“My little brother is taller than I am, and plays for the Lakers, if you want me to bring him, too,” Brian quipped, and they all laughed. “I'm sorry, I just have no respect for guys like your half-brother, who screw up, and then try to extort money out of everyone else. From everything Arnold tells me, your father was right to leave him out of the will. He's had plenty of chances till now. He doesn't need to try and blackmail it out of his sisters.” Brian was aware, too, that an illegitimate child of their father's had surfaced in the will, and Arnold had told him it was an enormous shock, but seemed to be resolving peacefully. Véronique had called him from Cap d'Antibes, and said the meeting with the Marniers had gone well, and they were as nice as the detective had said. They wanted no trouble and were grateful for anything they'd get. The Parker women had been fortunate with that. It was Bertie who was the thorn in their side now.

“How do we get him to give up and get lost?” Timmie asked, wishing Bertie would just disappear into the mists. Brian didn't think he would. This was a crapshoot for him, and worth it, if they caved and paid him off, which he said immediately he hoped they wouldn't do.

“Don't worry, there isn't a chance in hell of that,” Timmie reassured him with a stubborn look.

“Good, then we'll tell him that, convince him that you mean it, and remind his lawyer that he doesn't have a leg to stand on. And beat the shit out of him in court if he doesn't give up. And I don't think he will. It's not in the nature of a guy like that, he has nothing to lose and everything to gain. I don't think he'll want to take this all the way to trial, but he'll want to give all of you a big headache in the meantime—depositions, discovery, forensic accounting of the estate, whatever they can pull—which will cost you money, and annoy the hell out of you, and is designed to make you cough up money to get rid of him.”

“We won't,” Timmie said, and looked as though she meant it. He believed her.

“What about your sisters? Will they want to settle?” Brian wanted to know more. And she was a good place to start. He could already see that Timmie meant business, and was smart. She was beautiful, too, but that was beside the point. This was business.

“My sister Joy won't. She agrees with me, and she hates Bertie, too. Maybe not as much as I do, but she's on the same page. So is Juliette, but she's the family softie and bleeding heart.”

“I thought you were the social worker,” he said with a wry smile.

“Yeah, and the meanest kid on the block,” she said proudly. “I'd beat the shit out of him myself if I could.” Since he had been blunt with her, she didn't hesitate to do the same with him. He was a whole other breed from Arnold, who was genteel, polite, and a gentleman to the core. Brian McCarthy was a street fighter, and it showed.

“Well, allow me to beat the shit out of him for you,” Brian said, pretending to be gallant, when in fact he was just tough.

“Where do we start?” Timmie said, looking Brian in the eye.

“We respond to the suit for each of you. What about your mother? How does she feel about this?”

“She's disappointed in him. She raised Bertie since he was eight. She was the last one to give up her illusions about him, even after our father. She won't give him anything now. She knows he's a crook, although she hates to admit it.” Brian nodded.

“They've asked for discovery, so we give them what they want. All your father's papers, financial statements, everything that involves accounting, and the same for all of you, and your mother. He's just doing it to annoy us, but we have to comply.”

“Are you serious? Why can't we just ignore him, if this will never go to court?”

“Because we have a legal obligation to give them what they ask for. They have a right to discovery, to see what they can find in your financial records,” the litigator explained.

“Well, I'm not doing it,” she said stubbornly. He watched her eyes intently. She was as tough as Arnold had warned him.

“You have to, Miss Parker. Do you have something to hide?” he asked her bluntly, and she looked incensed.

“No. I don't have time. I take care of people who are dying on the streets and need a place to sleep. I can't waste my time for some asshole who wants to rip me off.”

“He may want to rip you off, but right now the law is on his side, and he has a right to ask us to produce all financial records for all six of you, including your father's estate.”

“Let the others do it. I can't,” she said, blowing him off, and he looked stunned.

“I don't think you understand. This isn't a lottery. You
all
have to produce your financial records.”

“I get that. I won't.” She held her ground. Brian looked at Arnold in dismay, who looked embarrassed and tried to explain it to Timmie again, in gentler terms.

“I'm not stupid. I understand. I told you. I
don't
have the time. I'm not shortchanging my clients to spend weeks digging through financial records I may not even have anymore and don't know where they are.”

“Well, look for them,” Brian said in a stern voice, and she shook her head. “Then I can't represent you,” he said simply, and stood up. “You have a good case, but I'm not going to waste my time dealing with clients who won't cooperate with the most basic principles of a lawsuit.” He turned to Arnold with fire in his eyes. “Count me out. I'm not your man.”

“You're just making a point of this because you're a man,” Timmie said in a querulous tone, and Brian looked at her in a rage.

“You're kidding, right? You're accusing me of being sexist, because I expect you to help me comply with discovery. What are you? Some kind of militant feminist? Hire a woman then, but she's still going to expect the same things I am. This is the law, not a war between the sexes.”

Timmie's issues about men had come out in spades, and she wouldn't back down. “Men always have to prove the point that they make the rules and can tell you what to do. Or they bullshit you into it.” Like her father, but she didn't say it. “Or they lie to you, or sleep with your best friend.” Brian felt sorry for her as he listened—clearly she had other issues than her half-brother's lawsuit, and he suddenly saw that her blazing green eyes were not just angry, they were hurt. He lowered his voice when he addressed her again.

“I'll tell you what. I won't sleep with your best friend. I will never lie to you, because I never lie no matter how much you might hate what I say. And when it's a point of law, you'll do what you have to, or a minimum at least so you don't make me look bad or get me disbarred. When something is my opinion or advice, you can argue with me and do what you want. When it's a point of law, we play by the rules. How does that sound to you?” Her eyes met his fearlessly for a long moment, and then she nodded.

“Okay. I can live with it.” He wasn't sure he could, but he had agreed. And he owed Arnold a favor, so he was trying to hang in, for his sake. “Are we done?” she said, standing up. “I have to get to work. I can't waste my time on this bullshit of my brother's all day.” Brian wanted to say he couldn't either, but he didn't say a word as they shook hands and she left the room. Brian turned to Arnold when she did.

“Holy God. How did you get me into this? I should be charging you double for this case,” he said, and Arnold smiled. “I damn near strangled her. I hope her sisters aren't as bad as this.”

“Timmie's not ‘bad,' ” Arnold said compassionately, although he hadn't been happy with the meeting either, and how she had behaved. “She has issues with her father. He was never there for any of them. He was a very selfish man, and she's still angry about it. I think she's had some difficult relationships, the usual romantic disappointments.”

“No wonder. What does she do, bite them in the neck, or just rip their heads off? That is one hell of an angry woman.”

“Her sisters are very sweet, the two I know. I've watched them all grow up. And their mother is an angel. You won't have any trouble with her. I don't know about the girl in France, but they met her last week, and I hear it went very well. She's supposed to be a nice girl. Timmie is the only challenge you'll have.”

“When I was a baby public defender, I had a guy who killed thirty-one people in a drive-by shooting. He was a hell of a lot nicer than she is. That woman needs a muzzle and a leash.”

“She'll calm down,” Arnold tried to reassure him, but he wasn't sure she would. Brian left his office then and made an appointment with Juliette for the following week. He wanted to meet them all, so he knew who he was dealing with. Timmie had been a hard place to start, but he wasn't planning to take any guff from her or let her run the show. That wasn't his style, and he could hold his own with tougher clients than her.

Timmie had been equally unnerved by the meeting on her way to work that day. She wasn't used to lawyers threatening her or ordering her around. Brian McCarthy seemed like a chauvinist to her, and he had the misfortune of being a much larger version of her ex-fiancé, who had cheated on her. She had seen the resemblance immediately, except for the red hair. And he had played football at Harvard, too, though he wasn't the captain of the team, and he was younger. He had been her age. Timmie had read on the Internet that Brian was thirty-nine and a full partner of his firm. His credentials were excellent, but she was determined not to take any shit from him or anyone else.

She said as much to her mother when she called her about the meeting the night Véronique came home. It was midnight, she was unpacking, and thinking about Aidan. She missed him terribly. She had called him when she landed, as promised, which only made her miss him more.

Timmie didn't ask her how the flight was or welcome her home. She went straight into a diatribe about the meeting with Brian McCarthy.

“I don't like him,” she said, furious again.

“Why not?” Véronique asked, trying to focus on it, not on Aidan, which was all she had on her mind, and she was tired from the flight back to New York. Timmie hadn't thought of that.

“He's a bulldog and a sexist, and I'm not going to let him push me around.”

“Did he try?” Véronique was surprised. He didn't sound like the kind of man Arnold would hire, but she could hear how upset Timmie was. Just talking about him made her livid.

“We have to produce all our financial records for ‘discovery.' I don't have time for that, in Bertie's bullshit case to rip us off.”

“I expected that,” Véronique said calmly. “We all have to do it.”

“You don't work, Mom. I do,” she said with a sharp edge to her voice that her mother didn't like.

“You still have to comply, Timmie,” Véronique said firmly. “Was that your battle with the litigator?”

“I didn't like his tone or his style. He looks like a frat boy in a suit.” And so had her ex-fiancé.

“Arnold says he's an excellent litigator,” Véronique said, sounding tired. She really didn't want to get into Timmie's battles with the lawyer because she thought he was a sexist and looked like a frat boy. They needed a litigator for the case, and Arnold said he was the best person for the job.

“Just stay away from him and do what you have to,” Véronique advised her, and after a few more minutes of grousing, Timmie hung up, clearly in a bad mood. To her mother, it sounded like she was overreacting, and it did when Timmie complained to Juliette, too.

It depressed Véronique to be home. And it was five in the morning in London, so she couldn't call Aidan again. Back in her New York apartment, she suddenly felt as though the time she had spent with him was unreal. Maybe it was only a crazy summer romance and nothing more. Rome, Venice, Siena, Florence, Antibes, Berlin, London. They had covered the map of Europe, but where would they go from here? He was going to visit her in Paris, and she had promised to go back to London. But then what? Maybe he had been right in the beginning, that lives like theirs couldn't mix. They had many things in common, except their backgrounds and their age. How much did it matter? She no longer knew.