Cold Mourning. Brenda Chapman

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СКАЧАТЬ smile before she turned her attention back to the man standing next to her.

      Tom imagined the man eying Laurel’s breasts, poor bastard probably wondering if he stood a chance of getting her somewhere alone so he could run his own hands up and down the curves outlined by her black form-fitting gown that dipped like a crescent moon in front. The thought of plunging one’s face between those twin mounds could drive a man crazy if he let it. Tom knew all about that. He felt the familiar heat in his groin and cursed himself for being weak, for still wanting her.

      “You meeting Archambault tomorrow?”

      Tom dropped his eyes to look down at the man in front of him. J.P. Belliveau. He couldn’t be in the same room as his partner anymore without thinking of bullfrogs — squat, round toads with oversized cheeks and bulbous eyes under heavy lids. He forced his face to relax, as if he had nothing on his mind but the deal.

      “I have a call scheduled with him when I get into the office tomorrow. I’m going to fax him the contract before lunch and then head to his office in Montreal right after Christmas to finalize and pick up the signed papers.”

      “For less than we offered last month?”

      Tom nodded.

      “How did you manage to talk Archambault down?”

      “I told him we would only assume the risk if he came down in price. I knew we were his only real hope so he had to drop his bottom line.”

      “I thought an American company expressed interest.”

      “They didn’t have the capital to take it on this quarter. I might have also planted a seed with their point man that the design was flawed.” Tom shrugged and smiled.

      “You impress me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think we were separated at birth.”

      Tom nodded again but something burned in his guts like bile on a barbecue. He’d forgotten to bring antacid tablets and would be in rolling pain by the time he pried Laurel away from the party. Maybe he would make time for the doctor’s appointment tomorrow. He’d cancelled the last two times but this ulcer was getting worse.

      He felt an arm slip through his and flinched involuntarily until he looked down and saw that it was his daughter. He let his arm relax against hers. Geraldine tilted her shiny blond head and smiled up at him, a smile that softened her long, narrow face and plain features.

      “Max and I are just heading out, Daddy. He’s got an early day tomorrow and I’m a bit whacked.” She patted her rounded belly for emphasis. “This baby is sapping my energy.”

      “I’ll walk you out then,” said Tom. He noticed Max standing behind Geraldine, checking his BlackBerry and punching keys with his thumbs. “Something in the hopper?” Tom asked over Geraldine’s head, not sure why Max’s fiddling with the contraption unsettled him. It might have had something to do with the focused look on Max’s face that shut out everybody around him, including his pregnant wife.

      Max glanced up. “Just a question about a meeting tomorrow. It could have waited until morning but you know Benny. He’s a bulldog when it comes to nailing down the details.”

      “Sure.” Tom looked closer at his son-in-law. When had he added the blond streaks to his hair? His grey pinstriped suit looked tailor-made and his shoes brand new. Tom grimaced. If Geraldine hadn’t begged him to give Max Oliver a job, he never would have let the guy through the front door. Tom had Max’s number at hello — as deep as a puddle and as vain as a show horse — but Geraldine couldn’t live without him, and he couldn’t deny her. Tom felt a stab of indigestion below his rib cage. It was worse than normal tonight and that was saying a lot. At this rate, he’d have to find somewhere to lie down and curl into a ball until the pain lessened to something approaching bearable.

      “You okay, Daddy?” Geraldine squeezed his forearm as they walked. “You’ve turned pale all of a sudden.”

      “Just tired. I think I’ll leave right after you.”

      “What about Laurel?” Geraldine’s eyes narrowed as she looked toward his wife holding court. “She doesn’t look like she’s ready to leave.”

      “Don’t worry about Laurel,” Tom said. He gently steered Geraldine toward the coatroom. He didn’t feel like another scene tonight. He hoped Geraldine didn’t feel his weight on her arm. The spasm of pain nearly had made him double over.

      He forced himself to walk upright as they stepped outside into the welcome cold of the winter evening. The air chilled the sweat on his forehead and he felt like he might just make it home. He handed the doorman in the heavy red overcoat their two tags and watched him speak into a radio to have their cars brought around. Tom looked past him at the blue and green Christmas lights swaying on the tops of the trees in the square across from the Chateau Laurier.

      “Looks like I have to go back to the office,” Max said stepping close behind them. Tom and Geraldine turned in unison to face him.

      “No!” Geraldine wailed. “You promised me not tonight.”

      Max frowned and his shoulders rose in a quick shrug. “Sorry angel, but it can’t be helped. Benny’s found a problem with one of the contracts. If I deal with this now, I might avoid a trip east. God knows, I have no desire to head to the coast this time of year.”

      Geraldine began to say something, but whoever was driving their car approached a little too fast and it skirted to a stop, fishtailing slightly so they all took a step backwards. Her voice trailed away.

      “What the hell?” said Max. He raised a fist toward the car.

      A kid in his early twenties wearing a red toque and an iPod jumped out and grinned at them before he headed back to the parking lot. Max lowered his hand and cursed again. He took Geraldine by the arm and guided her to the other side of the car, walking slowly so she didn’t slip on the ice. He opened the door and lowered her onto the seat. Whatever he whispered into her ear must have been amusing because when he straightened she was smiling up at him, her eyes luminous in the overhead light of the car.

      Tom motioned Laurel over. He’d left his overcoat on and didn’t want J.P. to see that he was leaving early. Laurel said something to one of the men and he laughed as she stepped away from them. She made her slow way toward him, her hips swaying in time to the music like a stripper crossing the stage. Tom pulled her into the hallway.

      “I’m heading home,” he said. “I’m a bit done in.”

      “I can come with you. I don’t mind leaving.”

      Her eyes said otherwise. He could see the wine glow on her face and knew she was just warming up to the evening. He’d long since stopped worrying about trying to keep up with her. Their twenty-seven-year age difference had become an insurmountable chasm.

      “You should stay. If J.P. sees us all cutting out early, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

      “If you’re sure.” Her eyes slid past him, back into the glitter of the party room. The DJ had replaced Bing Crosby with Beyonce and couples were dancing in the centre of the gilt ballroom.

      “Will you manage to get home okay if I take the car?”

      “I have cab money if nobody is going my way.”

      “I’ll СКАЧАТЬ