Authors: Marilyn Campbell
Topaz Dreams (6 page)
Chapter Four
Illusion is the first of all pleasures.—Voltaire
GordonIllusion is the first of all pleasures.—Voltaire
Underwood savored the tender veal his manservant, King, had prepared
for lunch. He smiled at his beautiful guest as she nibbled on her own
meal and received a contented smile in return. The eight-room log
"cabin" around them comforted Underwood with its warmth and simplicity.
Even the weather in this northern frontier pleased him now. July in
Alaska was far preferable to California, and he was certain they would
not have to spend another winter there.
Surely Karl Nesterman would
stumble onto the answer soon. His thoughts drifted to the computer
scientist in his secure quarters at the other end of the house.
Underwood
would have preferred it if Nesterman had accepted his
five-million-dollar offer. He did not particularly like getting his
hands dirty unless there was absolutely no alternative. For some
ridiculous reason the man had turned him down, and Underwood resented
the fact that he had been forced to kidnap Nesterman to get his
assistance. He would have gladly shared the glory with the scientist,
but not now. Now, he was not certain he would even pay him if he did
complete his assignment.
When the alien had mysteriously vanished
from the hospital bed in the underground complex in Nevada six months
earlier, Underwood had salved his wounded ego with the conviction that
the alien's people would return for the gaudy opal ring Underwood had
retained. He had immediately made plans to deal with such a visitor, so
that he or she would not be able to escape so easily the next time.
As
he chewed a succulent piece of meat, he thought about the way he had
set out to make his scheme a reality. His first order of business had
been to find the right location to set his trap. It had to be a place
where secrecy could be maintained for a time. It had to be remote
enough not to attract unwanted attention, yet close to civilization so
Underwood could run his business with as little interruption in his
normal routine as possible.
When he had learned of a
five-thousand-acre parcel in central Alaska, he had snatched it up,
using the customary trail of brokers and false corporations to carry
out the deception. Located in one of the forests that had not already
been claimed as a wildlife refuge, national park, or preserve, it was
close enough to Fairbanks to satisfy his needs.
It had also met
another essential criterion. It possessed a lake large enough for a
medium-sized seaplane to land. Underwood had wanted the simple house
built immediately and refused to be dependent on the Alaska Railroad
and the vagaries of winter travel overland to get the construction
materials and workmen to the area.
Once again he had proven the fact
that if one had sufficient capital and clout, any obstacle, including
Mother Nature, could be overcome. The totally self-sufficient house was
completed to his specifications within four weeks, the final touches in
the next four after he and King had moved in. He had placed the ring in
a curio cabinet, along with other genuine artifacts, in a very
specially equipped room.
As he looked at his dinner companion, he
prided himself on his cleverness. His business had run uninterrupted as
many years ago he had created a system which funnelled all information
through his primary secretary in the San Francisco office, so no one
ever questioned not hearing from him personally for weeks at a time. He
could be anywhere in the world, but one phone number could be called
and he would be tracked down minutes later if she deemed it necessary.
Only she and King knew of his Alaskan retreat.
No matter how busy he
was, Underwood was always available for her calls. After all, her
loyalty was guaranteed, and she was also the most efficient of his army
of secretaries. She was his mother, although he had not called her
anything remotely personal since he was a child. Such sentiment was a
weakness and Gordon detested weakness of any kind. She was also the
first woman he had dubbed Miss Preston, after the original one was out
of his life. Her name had been legally changed to further satisfy his
whim. No one but the two of them knew her true identity or why
Underwood trusted her with his empire, but no one dared cross her any
more than they would him.
Underwood savored his meal as he leisurely
tasted the lightly grilled vegetables and sipped at the full-bodied
burgundy. His thoughts reverted to the instructions he had given King
while they waited for someone to come for the ring.
Underwood
remained convinced that the ring had a specific function, and even if
its owner could afford to leave it behind, he wanted to know what that
function was. But he could not devote the time it would take to find
out as he could not ignore his business for that long. Only one man had
the expertise to rival his own, and he had gone after Nesterman,
certain if the money could not lure him, the promise of conquering the
unknown would.
For once Underwood had misread his intended conquest.
The computer genius was younger, shorter, slighter, and, unfortunately,
much less ambitious than Underwood. His refusal had hurt Underwood's
pride enough for him to take drastic measures. Thus Nesterman's freedom
of choice was taken away. If he failed to cooperate, his wife would be
killed. It was that simple. Most things in life were—when you had money
and power.
When he had first told Nesterman about the alien,
Underwood had been disappointed with the man's lack of interest.
Eventually, however, Nesterman began studying the ring, whether out of
curiosity or boredom, Underwood didn't care. Underwood had brought in
the most sophisticated equipment his company had, and set it up in one
of the two windowless rooms that made up Nesterman's apartment. The man
may have been a prisoner, but Underwood made certain he was provided
with all the comforts of home, with the exception of his wife, of
course, and a way to contact the outside world. Even if he could,
Nesterman had no idea where in the world he was, since he had never
been permitted to look outside and he had been kept unconscious for the
duration of the trip there.
For the first two weeks of his
captivity, Nesterman's findings had been limited to calculating the
number of combinations that could be achieved by pressing the nodules
on the sides of the gold band and or moving the opal in its setting.
The number was astronomical. Unfortunately, no matter how many
combinations he had tried, nothing seemed to happen. Underwood had
ordered him to keep working and to record every combination as he went
along.
Now that Nesterman had had some success, Underwood hoped
Nesterman solved the ring's entire puzzle soon. He could not know with
absolute certainty that Nesterman's disappearance would never be
connected to him. Given more time and a nervous wife, anything was
possible.
"King, lunch was superb, as usual," Gordon complimented his manservant as he cleared the table.
Born
of a Vietnamese mother and a Caucasian father, King was as tall and
broad-shouldered as Underwood, with Oriental features and straight
black hair. Ten years ago when King was twelve, Underwood accidentally
interrupted a gang of hoodlums from beating the youngster to death in a
Hong Kong alley. The orphan attached himself to Underwood who educated
and trained the boy in a variety of ways. King was an expert in the
martial arts, a gourmet cook, an excellent valet, housekeeper, a
licensed pilot, and Underwood's bodyguard.
At first Underwood had
considered him little more than a pet project, or perhaps more like a
pet. In a moment of perverse humor, Underwood named him King, and made
him his personal servant because he liked the idea of being waited on
by royalty. In spite of everything, King remained loyal and devoted to
the man who was responsible for his life. Their lives intermingled in a
way that was convenient and comfortable for each of them. To the
outside world, King was merely an employee, but in private he was an
integral part of Underwood's life.
Underwood pushed his chair back
from the table, and walked to where his guest sat. "I believe we will
have another cup of coffee before I get back to work—in the drawing
room please, King. Delphina, after such a fine meal, only your lovely
voice could be sweet enough to be dessert. I would like to hear that
song again, the one about the Noronians' trip across the universe to
the planet Earth." He held her chair as she rose, and waited patiently
as she smoothed the gathers of her long chiffon gown. When she placed
her fingertips on his forearm, he escorted her to the drawing room,
which had been called the den before her arrival.
Underwood
approvingly noted the crackling fire and the silver tray of liqueur
decanters on the low table. He walked Delphina to her favorite seat by
the fire, a large, tapestry-covered armchair. A few minutes later King
entered the room carrying the coffee service and placed it on the
table. After preparing their beverages, King slipped quietly from the
room.
Underwood smiled at the elegant picture they created: he in
his velvet smoking jacket, she in her pale lime Empire gown, a lord and
his lady.
It had been well worth the trip to New York this week to
purchase a new wardrobe for his house guest. The few things Miss
Preston had flown up from San Francisco for the lovely young woman were
entirely unsuitable. Delphina needed to be dressed like an empress. He
found it impossible to explain it to anyone else, and had finally
decided to choose the gowns himself.
After attending to other
pressing matters in New York, he had invited several designers'
representatives to bring some samples to his office. The power of his
name was enough to bring them scurrying like ants. He had accepted the
fact that a fresh flow of rumors would follow such purchases, but they
would be impossible to confirm under the circumstances. He had piloted
the plane to and from New York himself since King had to remain behind
to attend to Underwood's special guests.
To compliment the gown,
Delphina's beautiful hair was crowned by a wreath of baby's breath that
trembled with each movement of her regal head. He marvelled at her
loveliness every time he looked at her. No woman had ever had such
expressive emerald-green eyes, or hair that perfect blend of red and
light brown. Her cheekbones were a work of art as was her form.
He
had not been stirred by a woman in so many years that he was genuinely
surprised to find himself wanting to taste her lips and stroke her
small breasts, to feel her narrow hips settle on his lap.
She was
much too young. Oh, yes, she had answered that she was neither young
nor old when he had asked her age. It was her pure innocence and
delicate beauty rather than her actual age that discouraged his
seducing her. He had avoided any sexual relationship, even with
prostitutes, for most of his adult life because he had no desire for
anyone to learn his secret.
A normal sexual experience was not
enough, had not been since he was thirteen. He required something more
to achieve gratification, and a man in his position could not risk such
a weakness being used against him. So he suppressed his need and
diverted his energies into accumulating money and power. Until Delphina
appeared, he had not given his sexual desires a passing thought in
years.
"Will you sing for me now, Delphina?" Her sweet feminine
voice enveloped and warmed him more than the fire. He was glad Alaska's
summer remained cool enough to allow lighting the fireplace. It seemed
necessary to the scene, and it also pleased his guest.
The moment
when Delphina first appeared, she had made him think of Napolean's
Empress Josephine, and he found it impossible to treat her otherwise.
She had responded in kind, as if they had rehearsed their lines in
advance of their meeting. She fit the role so perfectly he could easily
forget it was an act. He wondered if he had treated her like a whore
instead, would she have accepted that as well and also acted
accordingly? No, he could not imagine her as anything so crude.
Gordon
tried to pinpoint the moment this fantasy replaced his previous life.
The two of them had never discussed it; it more or less fabricated
itself, and each hour, each day, it became more real and less
make-believe.
Although he felt as if Delphina had always been with
him, she had actually arrived less than three weeks ago. He remembered
the exact moment because he had finally acquired the additional two
percent he needed to have controlling interest of a British shipping
firm that had dared to refuse to conduct business with one of his
concerns. King had interrupted his phone call—which was absolutely
forbidden—to tell him Karl Nesterman was demanding to see him. Since
the computer scientist had been barely cooperative and completely
unproductive so far, Underwood hadn't known what to expect.
As Delphina sang her ballad, Underwood recalled each detail of the scene that had set the stage for their relationship ...
King
unlocked the door to Nesterman's apartment as soon as Underwood
approached, then blocked the lone exit with his body as his employer
entered the windowless room.
"Well, Underwood, I was beginning to
think you'd lost interest in your little project," Nesterman said
sarcastically. He swept his arm in front of him. "You can see for
yourself why I summoned you, your Majesty! Actually I'm glad you took
your sweet time getting here. It gave me a chance to collect my wits
again."
Underwood could not stop staring at the auburn-haired
vision. The flutter in his stomach was not strictly caused by the
possibility that this incredible woman-child was an alien. "How did she
get here?" he asked in a choked whisper without taking his eyes off the
woman.
"I'd like to say I wished for her, but I don't think you'd be
seeing her too, if she were my dream girl." When Nesterman got no
reaction from Underwood, he sighed and went on, "I believe I brought
her here, or rather this ring did with the last combination I tried. I
hate to admit it, but I think you might have been right. She's not from
around here. She speaks English by the way."
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