“Miranda is different, isn’t she?” Julian waited for Frank to answer.
“She is everything that I’m not. She loves easily while I find it difficult to conjure that feeling. If Miranda were to love a man, she’d do so unconditionally, with or without money. I need that . . . that security. Women change toward a man. They love him today, but if he forgets her birthday, she withdraws her love.”
“Miranda wouldn’t like a man to forget her birthday.”
“If I forgot it on the true date, I’d take her to Paris a week later and she’d forgive me.”
“Probably,” Julian said. “For the first seven or eight times anyway, but how would someone like Miranda fit into your life? If I remember correctly, your last love interest—the one before Gwyn—had a doctorate in Chinese poetry and spoke four languages.”
“She was a bore,” Frank said with contempt. “Julian, something’s happened to me in the last two years. I’ve had a change of heart. Many people have asked me what I’m earning money for, but I’ve never had an answer. I think it’s been the challenge and the goal. You above all people know that I haven’t wanted to buy anything. I’ve never wanted a yacht that costs a hundred grand a day to run. I’ve just wanted to—”
“To win,” Julian cut in. Sometimes he was sick of seeing Frank win.
“Julian, you know how I make money? I make money because I don’t care. I don’t care whether I win or lose. If there is a deal I really truly want, then I step out of it. You can’t be ruthless if you care.”
“What happened two years ago?”
“I met a kid, and it was like looking into my own eyes. He was so ambitious, so hungry for achievement.” Frank chuckled. “He steals office letterhead and writes letters to people on it.”
“That’s illegal.”
“Yes, but he does it to help people. I looked at him and thought, ‘I wish I’d had a son just like him.’ It was the first time in my life that I ever wanted a child of my own.”
“The Taggert bug,” Julian said. “Bitten at last.”
Frank sm
iled. “Ah, yes, my prolific family. They seem to be born with the urge to procreate. I don’t want the mother of my children to be anything but a mother to them.”
“And a wife to you, I take it.”
“Yes. I . . .” He took a deep breath. “When this happened”—he nodded toward his arm—“I had some time to think and to remember. If I’d broken my neck, not one of those billion dollars I own would have missed me. Not one of them would have cried in misery at my death. And worst, when I got out of the hospital, there wasn’t a soft, sweet woman whose lap I could put my head on and cry.”
At that Julian raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
“I could have cried that day. The Chinese-poetry lady called me and you know what she wanted to know? She asked me if breaking my arm and being in that much pain was arousing. Was my pain sexually exciting?”
“Tell her,” Julian said fiercely. “You must tell Miranda what you feel.”
“Tell her what? That I’ve been looking for a woman like her, someone who’d get on a horse and ride into the middle of nowhere to nurse an injured man? As far as I can tell, she asked no questions. She was told she was needed, so she went. For a ridiculously low sum of money.”
“Then tell her you need her.”
“She’d never believe that. What do I need her for? I have a cook. Sex is easy to come by, so what else do I need?”
“Frank, no wonder women come to hate you.”
“Women hate me when I refuse to marry them and make them part of my community property.”
“What are you going to change for her? The life you have now doesn’t favor a woman like Miranda.”
“I don’t know what you mean. I have to earn a living and now I’ll have a reason for what I do. If there’s a house, or anything she wants, of course I’ll give it to her.”
Julian was quiet for a moment. “That’s not what I meant. In spite of what you say, some women have genuinely cared for you. You, not your money. But without exception you dropped them. If Miranda got a nudge from you, I think she could actually love you. But then what? You drop her somewhere and see her when you aren’t too busy to stop by and say hello to her and the kids?”
Frank was frowning at him.
From the corner of his eye, Julian saw that Miranda’s shirttail was by the window. She was listening. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do? Does Miranda know the business, Frank? It’s easy to see that she’s dazzled by you. But she’s half in love with an unshaven guy who lives in a cabin, wears flannel, and catches his own dinner. But you’re that man what? Two weeks a year? The rest of the year you’re in a ten-thousand-dollar business suit or a tux. I can’t see her in a Dior gown at one of your charity events, with two hundred paparazzi bulbs flashing in her face.”