Читать книгу Long-Awaited Wedding - Doris Fell Elaine - Страница 7

Maureen Davenport entered the restaurant on the arm of Dwayne Crocker, an affable, rangy man in his late thirties, a brilliant engineer with a genius for math, a drolly humorous man…a total bore. She wondered now why she had agreed to come with him.

She had planned on leaving work on time and heading straight home for a relaxing soak in the hot tub. It was her way to unravel, to close out the day, to shut out her anxieties over the pending merger between Fabian Industries and Larhaven Aircraft Her preoccupation with the merger had left her without defense or excuses when Dwayne blocked her exit at closing time and asked, “How about dinner and a show this evening?”

So here she was, sitting across from him in a crowded restaurant that smelled of fried chicken and wondering how she could endure five hours in Dwayne’s company. She had expected this type of place—an economical menu with a quaint old-fashioned setting, tables crowded together and an abundance of fussing children.

She ran her hand over the closed menu, deciding on the house salad and a steaming cup of tea. Idly she watched Dwayne adjust his silver-rimmed glasses. The glasses magnified the glossy gray of his eyes—his best feature—and now as she met his glance, she saw the flecks of dark blue in the gray. His dancing eyes were evenly set in his narrow face, a not unpleasant face in spite of the prominent bony structure.

Before she could tell him what she wanted, he turned to the waitress, arched his thick brows and said, “We’re starving. Make it two chicken dinners—the whole works. Tea for the lady—”

So he remembered her preference, she thought.

“And coffee for me. And bring plenty of biscuits.”

As they waited, he knuckled his fingers. “Did I blow it?”

She mellowed her response. “I only wanted a salad.”

“And some place more exclusive?” He pulled a candle from his pocket and shoved it in the flower vase. Then he whipped out a lighter and made a ceremony of lighting it. “There, is that better?” he asked.

The flickering flame caught the light in his eyes again. “Do you always carry candles in your pocket, Dwayne?”

“Your secretary told me you like candlelight and fancy restaurants in Los Angeles or Newport. But getting a reservation this late—well, actually I didn’t bother. We’d miss the show.”

The show. Maureen had momentarily forgotten the theater. She moved her arm as the waitress set the rhubarb and house salad in front of her and put a plate of hot biscuits on the table.

“Maureen, are you married?” Dwayne asked.

She stared him down. “Dwayne, if I were married I would not be having dinner with you.”

He glanced at the opal ring on her left hand. “Don’t take offense. I’ve asked around and no one seems to know anything about your life outside of the office.”

“That’s the way I like it.”

At thirty-seven, Maureen was a poised, confident woman. Men often commented on her stunning appearance and her stylish clothes. Her good looks and social skills had helped her, but she’d managed to climb the ladder of success mainly through her intellect and sheer hard work. She had earned respect and equal footing with the men she worked with. But she was still a private person, her life outside Fabian strictly her own.

She said guardedly, “I was married once to Carl Davenport.”

She had met Carl in Indianapolis, where she worked right out of graduate school. He was wealthy and charming, witty and handsome, a superb dancer. Carl had liked his music fast and his tempo of living even faster.

She sighed. “Perhaps you’ve heard of my husband—Carl drove the Indianapolis 500.”

“Carl Davenport?” Excitement brightened Dwayne’s ordinary features. “I would never have guessed—”

An awkward pause cut his sentence short. He met her gaze and then said quietly, “He was killed driving the Indy 500, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, five years ago. His car crashed and burned.” She shivered, and felt the fine hairs on her arm curl. They had been on the verge of real happiness—of working out their differences. She felt her lips pinch. “He was only thirty-two when he died.”

“Too young.”

She smiled wanly. “He was doing what he liked doing best.”

“Yeah, I guess you can look at it that way. So you’ve been married and widowed. That’s a well kept secret at the office.”

Over the years, Maureen had kept another secret. Whatever you do, Dwayne Crocker, she warned silently, don’t ask me if Carl and I had children. I would have to lie and I have denied my daughter long enough.

Even as she looked across the table at Dwayne, Maureen remained calm, the thudding of her heart not visible to him. But surely he would think it was Carl’s child, not Allen’s. No one knew of the birth of Allen’s child, given up for adoption nineteen years ago. Almost twenty. Maureen rarely allowed herself to dwell on the infant daughter she had given away. And yet the girl was always there in Maureen’s mind. In her heart In her dreams. In this restaurant filled with strangers.

“Any kids, Maureen?”

“One daughter,” she said, and then quickly asked, “And you, Dwayne, have you ever been married?”

“I’m still waiting for the right girl to come along.”

Don’t wait too long, she thought You’re pushing forty.

But what did she want? She had no immediate plans to remarry again and settle down. She would if the right person came along, but for now she was carving out her niche in the business world.

But what if the “right man” came along? She knew for certain that Dwayne Crocker was not the one. As he talked on, she did what she always did when she sat across the table from a boring dinner date—she imagined that “special” person sitting there. Allen was always the right one, but he was gone, presumably lost in one of the country’s peacekeeping missions. After all these years, it was like lighting an old torch, like awakening a sleeping giant, like plucking back a painful memory. She tried to picture Allen across the table from her—older, wiser, handsome. Smiling and leaning forward and boasting that his father was grooming him to take over the family dynasty.

“So what do you think?” Dwayne’s question cut into her thoughts.

“Excuse me?” Maureen asked, embarrassed to have drifted off.

“I just suggested that you run away with me to some far-off island and get married.”

She laughed. “You do know how to get a woman’s attention.”

Maureen was thankful when their waitress arrived with fried chicken, mashed potatoes with country gravy, and biscuits with honey. She ate more than she had intended, as Dwayne monopolized the conversation.

He was unstoppable, inexhaustible, talking figures through much of the dinner. The billions of dollars of government overspending and predictions for the Dow Jones averages. Then—just when she thought that he was running out of steam—he offered statistics that would iron out the flaws in the Fabian missile project He was right, too. Dwayne Crocker didn’t make mistakes.

Normally she might find his conversation stimulating. But tonight the information seemed wearying, irksome, oppressive.

As the last roll disappeared from his plate, Dwayne carefully licked the honey from his finger. Over steaming cups of coffee and tea, he discussed the financial advantages of merging. He favored the merger with Larhaven.

She dreaded it.

“It’s nothing but a hostile takeover,” she said hotly.

“But, Maureen, Larhaven will come out on the winning side. Once we combine building military aircraft and the skins of commercial liners and keep signing contracts for more missiles, there’s no stopping us.”

“I dislike the bidding wars,” she told him.

“Look, a merger means billions of dollars on the drawing board. Fabian can’t keep pace with the industry unless we merge.”

But it wasn’t fair to be so close to being CEO at Fabian and then lose out to a merger, she thought She’d never have another opportunity to move to the top. “Jobs will be slashed,” she reminded Dwayne. “Hundreds of them. I expected to replace Eddie McCormick when he retired. Now I don’t even know whether I’ll have a job at all.”

“You know why McCormick stayed on? He’s fishing for better dollar signs and benefits in his retirement package. But my job’s secure,” Dwayne boasted. “They need my mathematical genius.”

“I wouldn’t count on it Larhaven will bring in their own management team.”

He looked surprised. “No chance they’ll let me go. If they do, I head right to their competitor. They won’t let you go either, Maureen. They may not want women as vice-presidents, but they will need research scientists.”

He pushed his plate aside and told the waitress to bring two apple pies. “Why are you so worried, Maureen? What did you do—have a run-in with the powers that be at Larhaven?”

“A long time ago. Old man Kladis doesn’t favor women on his board.”

“He’s been dead for ten years. His eldest son runs the show.”

Her body went rigid. Allen Kladis? “I thought Allen was dead,” she said softly.

“No, his wife died. About a year ago. But Allen is still going strong. He’s the force behind this merger. I can’t believe you. Haven’t you been listening in the conference room? Eddie keeps talking about A. G. Kladis. The guy’s about my age.”

Allen’s age.

So Allen was the head of Larhaven, not the father? What was his father’s name? Adam? No, Alexander G. Kladis, a tall man with olive skin and a barrel chest and anger in his black eyes, a father who had been determined to make millionaires out of his three boys even if he had to stomp on the heart of a seventeen-year-old girl who loved his eldest son more than anything else in the world.

“Maureen, are you all right? You look sick.”

“I have a headache. I just need to get some air.”

Dwayne dropped a tip on the table as they stood.

He gave her a winsome smile as they left the table. “Can we have dinner again soon, Maureen?”

She smiled back. “I’m too full to think about it right now.”

“Then I’ll keep asking.”

As they reached the door he gently touched her elbow. “Maureen, I’ve apparently given you a shock. I’m sorry. But when you get back to the office tomorrow, read the correspondence—check the masthead on the Larhaven contract. A. G. Kladis is CEO at Larhaven.”

Allen Kladis, not his father Alexander. She felt a stinging betrayal. Alexander Kladis had won. Why had the older Kladis lied to her so long ago? Why had he told her that Allen was dead?

Allen was alive—alive, and he never came back for her!