"When do you go back to Germany?"
"Next week," Marianne replied. "I'm getting married."
Her words caught him off guard. "Oh," Tony said lamely. "That's great. Who is he?"
"He's a doctor. I've known him all my life." Why had she added that? Did it have some significance?
On an impulse, Tony asked, "Will you have dinner with me in New York?"
She studied him, weighing her answer. "I would enjoy that."
Tony smiled, pleased. "It's a date."
They had dinner at a little seashore restaurant on Long Island. Tony wanted Marianne to himself, away from the eyes of his mother. It was an innocent evening, but Tony knew that if his mother learned about it, she would find some way to poison it. This was a private thing between him and Marianne, and for the brief time it existed, Tony wanted nothing to spoil it. Tony enjoyed Marianne's company even more than he had anticipated. She had a quick, sly sense of humor, and Tony found himself laughing more than he had laughed since he left Paris. She made him feel lighthearted and carefree.
When do you go back to Germany?
Next week...I'm getting married.
During the next five days, Tony saw a great deal of Marianne. He canceled his trip to Canada, and he was not certain why. He had thought it might be a form of rebellion against his mother's plan, a petty vengeance, but if that had been true in the beginning, it was no longer true. He found himself drawn to Marianne more and more strongly. He loved her honesty. It was a quality he had despaired of ever finding.
Since Marianne was a tourist in New York, Tony took her everywhere. They climbed the Statue of Liberty and rode the ferry to Staten Island, went to the top of the Empire State Building, and ate in Chinatown. They spent an entire day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and an afternoon at the Frick Collection. They shared the same tastes. They carefully avoided speaking of any personal things, and yet both were conscious of the powerful sexual undercurrent between them. The days spilled into one another, and it was Friday, the day Tony was to leave for the Wyatt Ranch.
"When do you fly back to Germany?"
"Monday morning." There was no joy in her voice.
Tony left for Houston that afternoon. He could have gone with his mother in one of the company planes, but he preferred to avoid any situation where he and Kate would be alone together. As far as he was concerned, his mother was solely a business partner: brilliant and powerful, devious and dangerous.
There was a Rolls-Royce to pick up Tony at the William P. Hobby Airport in Houston, and he was driven to the ranch by a chauffeur dressed in Levi's and a colorful sport shirt.
"Most folks like to fly direct to the ranch," the driver told Tony. "Mr. Wyatt's got a big landin' strip there. From here, it's 'bout an hour's drive to the gate, then another half hour before we git to the main house."
Tony thought he was exaggerating, but he was wrong. The Wyatt Ranch turned out to be more of a town than a ranch. They drove through the main gate onto a private road, and after thirty minutes they began to pass generator buildings and barns and corrals and guest houses and servants' bungalows. The main house was an enormous one-story ranch house that seemed to go on forever. Tony thought it was depressingly ugly.
Kate had already arrived. She and Charlie Wyatt were seated on the terrace overlooking a swimming pool the size of a small lake. They were in the midst of an intense conversation when Tony appeared. When Wyatt saw him, he broke off abruptly in the middle of a sentence. Tony sensed that he had been the subject of their discussion.
"Here's our boy! Have a good trip, Tony?"
"Yes, th-thank you."
"Lucy was hopin' you'd be able to catch an earlier plane," Kate said.
Tony turned to look at his mother. "Was sh-she?"
Charlie Wyatt clapped Tony on the shoulder. "We're puttin' on a whoppin' barbecue in honor of you and Kate. Everybody's flyin' in for it."
"That's very k-kind of you," Tony said. If they're planning to serve fatted calf, he thought, they're going to go hungry.
Lucy appeared, wearing a white shirt and tight-fitting, well-worn jeans, and Tony had to admit she was breathtakingly lovely.
She went up to him and took his arm. "Tony! I was wondering if you were coming."
"S-sorry I'm late," Tony said. "I had some b-business to finish up."
Lucy gave him a warm smile. "It doesn't matter, as long as you're here. What would you like to do this afternoon?"
"What do you have to offer?"
Lucy looked him in the eye. "Anything you want," she said softly.
Kate Blackwell and Charlie Wyatt beamed.
The barbecue was spectacular, even by Texas standards. Approximately two hundred guests had arrived by private plane, Mercedes or Rolls-Royce. Two bands were playing simultaneously in different areas of the grounds. Half a dozen bartenders dispensed champagne, whiskey, soft drinks and beer, while four chefs busily prepared food over outdoor fires. There was barbecued beef, lamb, steaks, chicken and duck. There were bubbling earthen pots of chili, and whole lobsters; crabs and corn on the cob were cooking in the ground. There were baked potatoes and yams and fresh peas in the pod, six kinds of salads, homemade hot biscuits, and corn bread with honey and jam. Four dessert tables were laden with freshly baked pies, cakes and puddings, and a dozen flavors of homemade ice cream. It was the most conspicuous waste Tony had ever seen. It was, he supposed, the difference between new money and old money. Old money's motto was, If you have it, hide it. New money's motto was, If you have it, flaunt it.
This was flaunting on a scale that was unbelievable. The women were dressed in daring gowns, and the display of jewelry was blinding. Tony stood to one side watching the guests gorging themselves, calling out noisily to old friends. He felt as though he were attending some mindless, decadent rite. Every time he turned around, Tony found himself confronted with a waiter carrying a tray containing large crocks of beluga caviar or pate or champagne. It seemed to Tony that there were almost as many servants as guests. He listened to conversations around him.
"He came out here from New York to sell me a bill of goods, and I said, 'You're wastin' your time, mister. No good oil deal gets east of Houston...'"
"You gotta watch out for the smooth talkers. They're all hat and no cattle..."
Lucy appeared at Tony's side. "You're not eating." She was watching him intently. "Is anything wrong, Tony?"
"No, everything's fine. It's quite a party."
She grinned. "You ain't seen nothin' yet, pardner. Wait until you see the fireworks display."
"The fireworks display?"
"Uh-huh." She touched Tony's arm. "Sorry about the mob scene. It's not always like this. Daddy wanted to impress your mother." She smiled. "Tomorrow they'll all be gone."
So will I, Tony thought grimly. It had been a mistake for him to come here. If his mother wanted the Wyatt Oil & Tool Company so badly, she would have to figure out some other way to get it. His eyes searched the crowd for his mother, and he saw her in the middle of an admiring group. She was beautiful. She was almost sixty years old, but she looked ten years younger. Her face was unlined, and her body was firm and trim, thanks to exercise and daily massage. She was as disciplined with herself as with everyone around her, and in a perverse way, Tony admired her. To a casual onlooker, Kate Blackwell seemed to be having a marvelous time. She was chatting with the guests, beaming, laughing. She's loathing every moment of this, Tony thought. There isn't anything she won't suffer to get what she wants. He thought of Marianne and of how much she would have hated this kind of senseless orgy. The thought of her was a sudden ache in him.
I'm marrying a doctor. I've known him all my life.
Half an hour later when Lucy came looking for Tony, he was on his way back to New York.
He called Marianne from a telephone booth at the airport. "I want to see you."
There was no hesitation. "Yes."
Tony had not been able to get Marianne Hoffman out of his thoughts. He had been alone for a long time, but he had not felt lonely. Being away from Marianne was a loneliness, a feeling that a part of him was missing. Being with her was a warmth, a celebration of life, a chasing away of the ugly dark shadows that had been haunting him. He had the terrifying feeling that if he let Marianne go, he would be lost. He needed her as he had never needed anyone in his life.
Marianne met him at his apartment, and as she walked in the door, there was a hunger in Tony that he had thought forever dead. And looking at her, he knew the hunger was hers, too, and there were no words for the miracle of it.
She went into his arms, and their emotion was an irresistible riptide that caught them both up and swept them away in a glorious explosion, an eruption, and a contentment beyond words. They were floating together in a velvety softness that knew no time or place, lost in the wondrous glory and magic of each other. Later they lay spent, holding each other, her hair soft against his face.
"I'm going to marry you, Marianne."
She took his face in her hands and looked searchingly into his eyes. "Are you sure, Tony?" Her voice was gentle. "There's a problem, darling."
"Your engagement?"
"No. I'll break it off. I'm concerned about your mother."
"She has nothing to do with - "
"No. Let me finish, Tony. She's planning for you to marry Lucy Wyatt."
"That's her plan." He took her in his arms again. "My plans are right here."
"She'll hate me, Tony. I don't want that."
"Do you know what I want?" Tony whispered.
And the miracle started all over again.
It was another forty-eight hours before Kate Blackwell heard from Tony. He had disappeared from the Wyatt Ranch without an explanation or good-bye and had flown back to New York. Charlie Wyatt was baffled, and Lucy Wyatt was furious. Kate had made awkward apologies and had taken the company plane back to New York that night. When she reached home, she telephoned Tony at his apartment. There was no answer. Nor was there any answer the following day.
Kate was in her office when the private phone on her desk rang. She knew who it was before she picked it up.
"Tony, are you all right?"
"I'm f-fine, Mother."
"Where are you?"
"On my h-honeymoon. Marianne Hoffman and I were m-married yesterday." There was a long, long silence. "Are you there, M-mother?"
"Yes. I'm here."
"You might s-say congratulations, or m-much happiness or one of those c-customary phrases." There was a mocking bitterness in his voice.
Kate said, "Yes. Yes, of course, I wish you much happiness, Son."
"Thank you, M-mother." And the line went dead.
Kate replaced the receiver and pressed down an intercom button. "Would you please come in, Brad?"
When Brad Rogers walked into the office, Kate said, "Tony just called."
Brad took one look at Kate's face and said, "Jesus! Don't tell me you did it!"
"Tony did it," Kate smiled. "We've got the Hoffman empire in our lap."
Brad Rogers sank into a chair. "I can't believe it! I know how stubborn Tony can be. How did you ever get him to marry Marianne Hoffman?"
"It was really very simple," Kate sighed. "I pushed him in the wrong direction."
But she knew it was really the right direction. Marianne would be a wonderful wife for Tony. She would dispel the darkness in him.
Lucy had had a hysterectomy.
Marianne would give him a son.