Cat on the Scent

            Vane-Tempest raised an eyebrow. “Would you like my blood type?”

            Howard, humorless, replied, “Not necessary, sir.”

            “Next.” Vane-Tempest held out his hand, his ultrathin watch half hidden by his cuff.

            The Yale Law graduate handed him another legal-sized document. This one had beige covers to distinguish it from the others.

            “Mmm.” Vane-Tempest read quickly. He understood the law quite well for a civilian. Then, too, those many decades of business, real estate, and one jarring divorce had taught him the basics: Screw them before they screw you.

            In this instance he wasn’t interested in besting someone. He was acting with largesse.

            “I think you’ll find it is just as you dictated, sir…”

            “I know, Howard, but it’s a damn fool who signs a contract without reading it, even if he did dictate it. If you’re bored,”—his voice dripped acid and well it should, since he kept this law firm on a million-dollar retainer—“walk with my beautiful wife in her beautiful garden.”

            “I’m not bored.”

            “I’m so glad to hear it.” He read on and ten minutes later signed the beige-covered documents, again twelve copies.

            The black ink, specially purchased from Italy for its richness of hue, glistened on the last page of the last document. Vane-Tempest blew on the page.

            The young assistant surreptitiously sneaked a glance at Sarah, the lush light outlining her breathtaking features. This is what money buys, he thought to himself.

            “Shall I hand deliver the Teotan papers to Mr. Bainbridge?”

            “Yes. Mr. Bainbridge, as you know, is in hospital. Don’t tire him.”

            “Despite his injuries I do believe this will revive his spirits.”

            “Hope so, Howard. Nasty business. The police will never find the criminal. They never do, you know. You Americans display a curious disregard for punishment and deterrence.”

            “Sir?” Howard stood as his client got to his feet.

            “If you catch them you let them off on parole. If they’re in jail they work out with weights or watch TV. Devil’s Island, by God, send them to Devil’s Island. You’ll see your crime statistics plunge.”

            “I agree.” And he did.

            “Off with you, then.” Vane-Tempest smiled genially as Secretary Number One showed the two lawyers the front door.

            He clasped his hands behind his back. Butterflies covered his Italian lilacs, late bloomers, but everything was late this year.

            He strode outside feeling better than he had in a while. Putting his arm around Sarah’s shoulders, he guided her to the expanse of manicured lawn, the croquet pitch, facing the north. The direct western view, the best mountain views, he wisely left unmolested, the lawn merging with the edge of a hayfield.

            “Spring. Finally. Unequivocally.”

            “Yes.”

            “I have resigned my interest and by extension your interest in Teotan,” Vane-Tempest informed his wife.

            “What?” Dismay read over her face.

            He held up his hand. “Patience. Hear me out. I have turned over the corporation to Blair, to which he has agreed. He has only to sign the documents I have prepared and Teotan is his with my investment. I apologized for taking out my jealousy on him and speaking harshly to him. He apologized for an ”immoral escapade.“ Exact words.”

            “What about me?”

            “I thought we could go into business together. The two of us. What would you like?”

            Turning to view her garden she replied, with a hint of determination and excitement, “A nursery. A wholesale business to supply the landscape architects.”

            “How interesting. I thought you might pick a dress shop or a theater.”

            “A nursery. It’s healthier.” She beamed at him.

            “So it is.”

            “H., why are you relinquishing Teotan? There are other ways to buy off Blair Bainbridge.”

            “The fellow doesn’t have to be bought off. He doesn’t remember much about that afternoon. Not uncommon with head injuries, I’m told. So let’s just call it insurance… in case he does remember on some distant day. Besides, I think it imprudent for us to be in business with your former lover. I thought I was very clever in keeping Blair and Tommy close to me. They never suspected, I know, and I had ample time to study them. Archie, however, was a complete and dismal surprise.” He didn’t admit that he figured out about Blair from hearing her answer Archie’s accusation during their tryst in Archie’s office. He knew from the tone of her voice.

            Not missing a beat, she said, “I hated you, H. You dismissed me.”

            “How did you keep all those balls in the air, forgive the pun.” He heard what she said but changed the subject.

            “I’ve always been good at scheduling.” She stifled a laugh.

            “Did you love any of them?”

            “No. Blair is a sweet fellow but too languid, ultimately. And that was the briefest of affairs, H. Two weeks.”

            “Tommy Van Allen?”

            “A flameout. It was fading before he died.” She bit her lower lip, turning to face her husband. “I hated you and I wanted to hurt you. Don’t change the subject. I wanted to hurt you, Henry. You hurt me.”

            H. Vane-Tempest could withstand news, no matter how bad, as long as he was the center of it. “You succeeded.”

            “I’m desperately sorry.”