Читать книгу Baby Vs. The Bar - M.J. Rodgers - Страница 11

Remy snatched up the morning newspaper and ground her teeth as she read the extra-large headline. But the steam really began to curl out of her ears when she read the caption below the three-column picture of Truesdale straddling her with her skirt over her head.

She slammed the paper down on the lab table in her office and snatched at the coffeepot.

“Good morning, Remy,” her sister said as she rolled her wheelchair over. “Sorry I’m late, but I’ve been fiddling with... Hey, what’s wrong?”

Remy shoved the nozzle of the coffeepot into her mug and poured. “That’s what’s wrong, Phil. Did you see it?” she asked as she nodded at the newspaper.

Dr. Phillida Moore shifted her wheelchair and glanced over one of her well-muscled shoulders at the headline. “Oh, yeah, that.” She tsk-tsked. “Really, Remy. And you assured me yesterday morning you were only going to the courthouse to give testimony.”

Remy squinted her eyes. “Oh, very funny. I swear that’s the last time I ever put on a dress and heels again.”

Phil’s mouth twisted into a crooked grin. “Look on the bright side. You were wearing sexy underwear, at least. Why, right this minute there are probably dozens of love-starved men out there who are cutting this picture out of their morning paper so they can make you their latest pinup.”

Remy shook her head. “How marvelously comforting that image is. Thank you so much.”

Phil chuckled. “What shall your big sister do? Track down this attorney and run over his feet with my wheelchair? Or should I go after the photographer? The newspaper editor? The caption writer?”

Remy grinned as the anger drained from her thoughts. Phil was great for getting Remy’s thoughts away from those things she couldn’t do anything about. Which was precisely what Phil had intended to do, of course.

“I already took care of the attorney.”

“Now that’s my little sister talking,” Phil said proudly, the expression on her strong angular face matching the humor in her tone.

“You can don your avenger cape and start with the photographer, though,” Remy added. “Want some coffee?”

“I would sell my right wheel for a cup,” Phil said, grabbing a mug off the table.

Remy smiled as she dumped a couple of sugar cubes and then some coffee into her sister’s mug. “You were starting to tell me why you were late?”

“Oh, the wheelchair ramp on my van got stuck again. The guy from the auto club finally came by and fixed it.”

But not until Phil had sworn and fussed, trying to fix it herself for a couple of hours, Remy was certain. Phil hated not being able to do everything for herself, because she could so clearly do most everything for herself. She simply refused to let the wheelchair stop her. Phil was the strongest and most determined person Remy had ever known.

“You could have left the wheelchair, put on those new steel-strong plastic legs the doctor fitted you with and hailed a taxi. I thought you walked really well in them last time.”

“Yeah, sure. I saw the video of how well I walked. Kind of reminded me of Frankenstein’s monster.” Phil laughed. “Too bad the faculty’s Halloween party next month isn’t a costume ball. Talk about typecasting!”

Remy’s brow furrowed. “That’s nonsense and you know it. Just let your hair grow a bit, put on some makeup and walk in wearing a long black dress. You’d be smashing.”

Phil chuckled with very little mirth. “Oh, I’d be smashing, all right. Into everything.”

“Phil, if you don’t try—”

“Hey, I don’t need phony legs, Remy. Or any phony compliments about how gorgeous I could be all dolled up. I like this old mug of mine. I like my wheelchair just fine, too. I can move faster with these wheels than most people can walk, present company excepted, of course. I know what’s best, kiddo. Always have.”

Yes, Phil always seemed to. For as long as Remy could remember, she’d been following her older sister’s advice. And benefiting from it. Phil was strong where it counted. She had taught Remy to be strong, too.

The telephone rang. Remy answered it with her name as she always did when she was at work.

“Dr. Westbrook, this is Kate Saunders from Channel Five. I’d like to interview you sometime this morning about—”

“No,” Remy interrupted coolly. “No interviews.”

“But—”

Remy hung up the phone quickly and turned to Phil. “That’s the third newsperson this morning and it’s not even ten o’clock.”

She downed some of the steamy coffee, forgetting to sip in her pique. It burned her throat. She paid little attention. The thoughts firing through her mind were suddenly a lot hotter.

Phil grinned. “You should get harassed by the press more often. Puts a nice color in your cheeks.”

Remy ignored the tease this time. “Three of them were waiting for me when I drove up this morning. Fortunately, Braden got here at the same time and misdirected them over to another building so Nicholas and I could sneak inside and lock the door. Although, we were still waylaid on the steps by some fool dressed in a knight’s armor who went down on bended knee and proposed to me.”

“No kidding? Ha!” Phil yowled, her head thrown back. “What a hoot! Who was he?”

“One of my students a semester ago. But he’s not the worst of it. You wouldn’t believe the guys who have been making a play for me. Last night after the TV news flashed my picture and mentioned the reason for my appearance at the Bio-Sperm trial, I got a call from a plumber who once fixed my sink, the owner of the dry cleaners I frequent, and even the guy who sold me my car—all asking for a date.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Let’s just say the last time I repeated that type of language I was twelve and you washed my mouth out with soap.”

Phil smiled.

“And, as if these news hounds and money-hungry lotharios weren’t enough,” Remy continued, “my first call this morning was from an attorney who said he’d be happy to represent me in my fight to get the Demerchant money, and he’d do it for only a third of the estate.”

Phil shook her head. “They sure start crawling out of the woodwork when a lot of money is mentioned.”

Remy took another sip of her coffee. “It’s Binick’s fault. He’s the one who made up that lie about Nicholas being Louie Demerchant’s great-grandson.”

“Are you sure it is a lie, Remy?”

“Of course it’s a lie. Think about it. Binick knows he’s responsible for destroying David Demerchant’s sperm. If Louie Demerchant wins that ten-million-dollar suit against him, Binick’s going bankrupt. He told me that himself when he and the process server arrived on my front doorstep with the subpoena.”

“He actually told you the ten-million-dollar award would bankrupt him?”

“Yes, like he thought that would influence me. And when I made it clear it didn’t, he acted like I should be pleased to learn I had received David Demerchant’s sperm. Probably thought I’d jump at the opportunity to claim the dead man’s money.”

“Which reminds me,” Phil said. “Why aren’t you?”

“Phil, Nicholas is not a Demerchant, so taking any of that money would be dishonest. And even if he were, I wouldn’t want it. Too much money is just as corruptible as too much power, since one inevitably leads to the other.”

“For a billion dollars, I wouldn’t mind being corrupted a bit.”

Remy put her cup down and studied her sister’s face, surprised to see its strong features set in a serious look. “Where is this mercenary streak coming from?”

Phil laughed. “It’s always been there, Remy. Face it, you turned out to be the only incorruptible kid in the family.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Phil smiled. “Yes, that’s what I like most about you. You’re putty in my hands. Don’t worry, I’ll stand...uh...sit by you through the worst of this, even if you refuse every cent.”

Remy rested her hand on her sister’s shoulder. One of Phil’s strong hands covered hers.

“Hey, this hand is going to mush. Have you been keeping up with your weights?” Phil asked before removing her hand and wheeling herself away.

Remy knew Phil’s intentional change of subject came because of her difficulty in displaying her gentler feelings.

“I’ll get back to the hand weights today, Phil. Promise.”

The telephone rang, again. Remy reached for it automatically, but this time Phil stayed her hand and answered it. “Dr. Phillida Moore... No, she’s not here. She left this morning for a long vacation in the Virgin Islands.... Yes, naturally she took her baby with her.... Yes... You’re welcome.”

Phil hung up the phone. “Maybe you’d best let Braden screen your calls for the next few days.”

“Don’t you need him to help you with Thumper’s physical?”

“We already did that yesterday while you were at the courthouse. You got back to the lab so late you missed everything.”

“How’d it go?”

“Braden relates well to the chimp, has from the first day. And now that the boys are no longer shy around him, I think he’ll work out just fine.”

Remy followed Phil’s eyes to the scene taking place on the other side of the glass partition. Their new lab assistant, Braden Fromm, a dark-haired, Atlas-shaped graduate student, was taking notes as Remy’s son, and another toddler and a chimpanzee all practiced saying hello to one another in sign language.

“We always seem to end up with good-looking body-builders for lab assistants, don’t we, Phil?”

Her sister’s eyes twinkled. “Yeah. Don’t we.”

Remy chuckled. She knew Phil always selected attractive men because she liked looking at them.

Remy’s eyes, however, were drawn to her son. A small smile circled her heart, as well as her lips. She was certain there had never been a more beautiful child.

Nicholas’s hair was a silky cognac cap, his large eyes bright blue lagoons fringed in a ring of coral lashes. His lean, sturdy little body—wrapped in an over-the-shoulder, tiger-striped outfit—gestured with overabundant enthusiasm at Thumper, the chimp.

“Nicholas is so smart for just seventeen months,” Remy said. “Sean’s twenty-one months, and yet Nicholas has a much larger vocabulary. And did you notice that Nicholas also understands he must never talk in the sign-language sessions with Sean and the chimp?”

“I noticed,” Phil said without a lot of enthusiasm.

Remy immediately picked up on the change in her sister’s tone. “I’m being one of those adoring, boring mothers again, aren’t I?”

“No. I’m just as proud of our little Nicholas. He catches on to things quickly, and his curiosity for finding out how things work is amazing. Unfortunately.”

Remy turned to her sister in surprise. “Unfortunately?”

Phil laughed. “You haven’t noticed? Not only has Nicholas memorized the keypunch code on the security doors, but the other day I saw him teaching Thumper how to unlock them, too.”

Remy looked back at her boy, her lips drawing into a proud smile. “The little rascal. I’m constantly amazed at what he picks up and then turns around and teaches Thumper. She learns faster from him than she does from us.”

“Yes, and that fact is rapidly becoming the most interesting part of this research for me. You were smart to make him part of your work.”

“I couldn’t stand the idea of being separated from him all day. I don’t know how other working mothers do it.”

“They do it because they’ve learned that being with a toddler dynamo, who has to be constantly watched and worried about twenty-four hours a day, constitutes far too much cruel and unusual punishment for one stay-at-home mom.”

Remy laughed. “You’re probably right. Here, at least, I have Braden, Sean, the chimp and all the lessons and activities to help keep Nicholas occupied and focused. Not to mention his very special aunt. Still wish he had been a girl?”

“Stop baiting me. You know I stopped wishing that the moment I held him. He’s perfect just the way he is. Just perfect.”

Remy looked away from the sudden stillness in her sister’s eyes and back to the joy on her son’s face as the chimp returned his sign for “toy” and they went off to the toy chest together. She was happy to share him. Nicholas would probably be the closest Phil ever got to having a child of her own.

The telephone rang once again. Phil picked it up and announced her name. “Yes, she is. Do you want to talk to... Oh... Okay... I’ll tell her.... Yes... Goodbye.”

She turned to Remy. “Dr. Feeson wants to see you in his office right away. Says it’s urgent.”

Remy frowned. “If it’s urgent, why couldn’t he have told me over the phone?”

“I thought you liked the handsome Dr. Feeson. I know all the other single faculty women were positively green when you guys went out six months ago.”

“Well, I was the green one by the end of the evening, believe me. Only thing he had any passion for was genetically engineering white mice with persimmon coats. When I asked him why he was doing it, he looked at me as though I had asked Picasso why he had painted an eye where an ear should be.”

Phil smiled. “So that’s why you never dated Feeson again.”

“Fortunately, I offended him enough that he never asked me again. Until yesterday afternoon, that is, when he waylaid me on my way back from the courthouse.”

“Wait a minute. Don’t tell me he came on to you, too?”

“He’d heard a radio bulletin about how Bio-Sperm was claiming Nicholas to be David Demerchant’s son. Apparently, he thought I’d jump at the chance to marry him and produce his persimmon-coated mice. I’m sure he still thinks I’m crazy for declining his generous offer.”

“What an incredible imbecile. Remy, why didn’t you tell me about this when you got back to the lab yesterday?”

“Because I was embarrassed for having even dated the guy.”

“He’s the one who should be embarrassed, only he’s too dumb to be. Take it from your older and wiser sister, men are good for one thing only—and most of them need detailed instructions just to get that right.”

Remy laughed as she checked her watch. “In another ten minutes, it’ll be time for the children and the chimp’s cookie break. I don’t want to miss that. Feeson can cool his heels.”

“Maybe I’d better go. Feeson’s just received a lump-sum donation from an anonymous source, earmarked for our higher-primate language studies.”

“A donation? For us? He said that?” Remy repeated in rapid succession as she swung out of her chair and landed on her feet. “Phil, why didn’t you tell me that in the first place? I can stomach Feeson long enough for him to hand me a check. Keep an eye on Nicholas for me, will you?”

Her sister smiled as she called after Remy’s fast-retreating figure. “It’ll cost you. I want that lump-sum donation for some EEG monitoring equipment. A research vet does not live by stethoscope alone.”

* * *

AS REMY CHARGED OUT the front doors of the Primate Language Studies Lab, Marc ducked down inside his Mercedes. He watched her glide quickly down the stairs on her way to Dr. Feeson’s office in the next building.

She wore faded jeans and a bulky sweater today. Her long hair was braided down her back. He only got a glimpse of her, but he would have known that long, beautiful, sensuous sway anywhere. As soon as she was out of sight, he turned to the man sitting impatiently in the passenger seat.

“Okay, Mr. Demerchant. She’s gone. But Dr. Feeson said he couldn’t guarantee how long he can delay her so we’d best move fast.”

Louie Demerchant pushed open the passenger door. “I don’t understand why we’re pussyfooting around, Truesdale. I just got finished writing out a check for twenty thousand dollars to this Primate Language Studies Lab. You secured official permission for both of us to tour the place. We even got a key. We have a right to be here.”

“Yes, but we don’t have a right to be viewing Dr. Westbrook’s son, and that, of course, is the real reason for this visit. Now, let’s just get in, let you have a look at the boy, get out and return Feeson’s key to him. Okay?”

“Okay,” Louie Demerchant answered grumpily.

Marc got out of the car and walked toward the front door with Demerchant right beside him. He hadn’t meant to be sharp with his client, but he was doing this under extreme duress. It was stupid. No one could take a look at a kid and know who its parents were. Yeah, this was really stupid. But it was the only way to keep Louie Demerchant from doing something probably even more stupid in order to see this child.

And maybe, just maybe, a look would finally convince the old guy that Binick had fabricated this totally improbable story.

Marc slid the key in the lock of the door Remy had exited only a moment before. He pushed it open and they went inside.

The building was new. The lab was an expanse of gleaming white floors and a long corridor. As they walked down the corridor, Marc stopped at each door on either side and quickly opened it to glance inside.

He found a couple of empty offices, a small kitchen and a large, vacant habitat room with an enormous skylight and sleeping quarters obviously designed to accommodate one or more chimps. Behind another door was an empty medical examining room. Then, at the far end of the corridor, Marc pushed open a door to a small room smelling of fresh-brewed coffee. It contained a table, a computer and a couple of chairs. Marc entered this room with Louie Demerchant on his heels.

On the other side of a two-way mirror was a large, colorful play area, decorated with plastic furniture in wild splashes of orange and blue and yellow. A woman in a wheelchair, her short dark hair waving around her ears, was gesturing at a chimp, while a younger, muscular man sat and took notes.

There was a chubby child in a blue sailor suit sitting next to the chimp. He had large dark eyes and a tuft of curly black hair at the top of his head. He was watching the woman in the wheelchair. He looked like he was trying to mimic the hand movements the woman was making.

Marc instantly heard the deep sigh beside him. “That child doesn’t look like David at all,” Louie Demerchant said sadly. “He could be anybody’s.”

The chimp got up and took a fake potted plant off an orange shelf and took it to the woman in the wheelchair. The woman shook her head and moved her hands again.

“Well, that’s it, then,” Marc said, relieved. “Let’s go.”

But just as they began to turn away from the scene on the other side of the glass, a toddler, who had previously been hidden from view behind the wheelchair, stomped sturdily over to the chimp, grabbed it by the paw and began to lead it to the bookcase.

As soon as the second boy, wearing a tiger-striped outfit, came into view, Louie Demerchant grabbed Marc’s arm with a grip of iron and sucked in a shocked breath.

Marc looked at his companion. “Mr. Demerchant, what is it?”

“Truesdale, don’t you see? That toddler with the chimp. Look at the color of his hair, his bright blue eyes, his cocky little walk. By God, I’d know him anywhere! That’s David’s son!”

Marc’s eyes swung to the sturdy little boy who was now carrying a book and leading the chimp back to the woman in the wheelchair. The woman was nodding and smiling and gesturing.

Marc watched the boy as the woman in the wheelchair took the book from him. He immediately began to fiddle with the masking tape wrapped around the shoulder button of his tiger-striped outfit. In mere seconds, he had worked both it and the button free. He pulled off his clothing, diaper and all. Then, with a mischievous squeal, he ran around the wheelchair, just out of reach of the woman’s hands, in what was obviously a favorite game.

Children, particularly ones this young, seldom looked like their parents. This one certainly didn’t look like Remy at all. But Louie Demerchant was absolutely right. He did look exactly, uncannily, like David Demerchant.

Until that second—that very second—Marc had not believed it possible. But looking at that little toddler and his antics, he now had no doubt. This boy was his dead friend’s son.

“What are you doing in here!” an angry voice demanded from behind them.

Marc whirled around and came face-to-face with the golden flames in the cinnamon eyes of one very angry Dr. Remy Westbrook.

He had absolutely no idea what to say to her. Louie Demerchant suffered no such hesitation. He bounded forward and wrapped his big arms around the mother of his great-grandson, crushing her to his barrel chest in an old-fashioned bear hug.

“Thank you so much for having him! You don’t know what you’ve done for me!”

* * *

REMY PUSHED AGAINST Louie Demerchant’s chest, trying to free herself from the unwanted, exuberant embrace. But despite his seventy-five-plus years, the tall, silver-and-auburn-haired man proved to be as strong as an ox. She couldn’t budge him.

She lifted her head, ready to demand he let her go, but found she couldn’t when she saw the tears swimming in his moist gray eyes.

Damn.

Louie Demerchant was crazy, of course. But he was obviously sincere. She could forgive this deluded old man who was so desperate to find a great-grandson. But his controlling, pushy attorney was another matter altogether. She deeply resented this impossible position he’d just put her in with Demerchant. Deeply.

After a moment, Louie Demerchant released her and turned his head away, pulling an old-fashioned handkerchief out of his pocket to dry his eyes. Remy immediately faced Marc Truesdale, the real culprit in this awkward assembly.

She kept her tone quiet and controlled, but it took a lot of effort. “If you are not out of here in one minute, I’m calling campus security to throw you out.”

“We have a pass to tour the center,” Marc countered with all the polish of his brassy manner as he stepped forward and fished a paper out of his suit pocket. He grasped her hand and slid the paper into it.

Remy took a deep, startled breath as she felt the bold insistence of his warm touch melting inside her like hot molasses. The physical reaction to his touch infuriated her, but it excited her, too. Very much. Too damn much.

His eyes held hers until she tore them away to look at what he had forced into her hand. She snatched both the pass and her hand from out of his grasp.

She looked at the pass, then at Demerchant, and finally back to Marc. “So now it becomes clear who the mysterious anonymous donor of twenty thousand dollars is and why Dr. Feeson kept trying to delay me in his office.”

“Mr. Demerchant just wanted to see—”

“You don’t have to tell me what Mr. Demerchant wanted to see,” Remy interrupted Marc, her eyes blazing as she tore up the pass. “This paper is worthless. There are no unescorted passes to my building.”

She swung back to face the older man. “Mr. Demerchant, I understand you are in pain over your tragic loss, but you will only invite more pain if you allow yourself to be deluded further. My child is not your great-grandson.”

Louie Demerchant smiled indulgently as he pointed to Nicholas, who was now being firmly held by the male lab assistant on the other side of the soundproof glass. “But he is, Dr. Westbrook. It’s all over his cute little mug. What’s his name?”

Remy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Please leave. Both of you,” she said, far more calmly than she felt. “Immediately.”

“Let me bring by a baby video of David that we had made from an old home movie,” Louie pleaded. “All you have to do is take a look.”

“Mr. Demerchant, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to look at your grandson’s baby video. Even if there is a resemblance between him and my child, it proves nothing. A lot of babies resemble adults who are not their parents. Now, this is over. Leave.”

“Come on, Mr. Demerchant,” Marc said, taking hold of his arm. “We’d best go.”

“But he’s David’s child! He’s my great-grandchild!” Louie protested.

“Mr. Demerchant, I’ll handle this.”

Remy watched as Louie Demerchant reluctantly let Marc lead him toward the door. But just before they exited the room, Marc turned to Remy, his lips drawn back into a charming smile, his cobalt blue eyes icy with intent. “I’ll be back,” he said.

It was a promise. And a threat.

A crazy shiver filled with both excitement and dread ran up Remy’s spine.

She was still listening to the echoes of their shoes down the long corridor and fighting her conflicting emotions, when Phil wheeled herself in from the sign-language room.

“Well, Nicholas has pulled his strip act again and... Remy? For heaven’s sake, you look ghastly. What’s up?”

“Phil, I’m beginning to think a trip out of the country might not be such a bad idea, after all. Do you think you could carry on without Nicholas and me for a few weeks?”

“You’re considering leaving your work? Remy, what’s happened?”

Remy told Phil about the visit from Demerchant and Marc Truesdale.

“So the old guy thinks Nicholas is his great-grandson. So what?”

“What if he comes back?”

“You throw him out. Remy, the guy can think anything he wants. He can’t do anything about it. Nicholas is yours. You have the right to say who sees him and who doesn’t.”

As always, Phil was right. Remy nodded. But she still worried. Because she had seen something Phil hadn’t. She had seen Marc Truesdale’s eyes when he said he would be back.

* * *

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, have you reached a verdict?” the judge asked the jury, who had returned after less than an hour’s deliberation.

“Yes, we have, Your Honor,” the foreman said.

“And what is that verdict?” she asked.

“We find for the plaintiff, Mr. Louie Demerchant, in the amount of ten million dollars,” the short man with the big nose and receding chin said with a smile.

Louie Demerchant reached for Marc’s hand and gave it a hearty shake as the courtroom erupted in response. The judge rapped for order and got only a halfhearted compliance. She gave up, thanked the jury and quickly adjourned.

“You did a hell of a job, Truesdale,” Demerchant said as they remained at the plaintiff’s table and let the courtroom clear.

“You got that Binick good,” Colin Demerchant echoed as he and his wife, Heddy, came forward to congratulate Marc.

Marc acknowledged the praise with a brief nod in the direction of David’s parents.

“Now, what are you going to do about my great-grandson?” Louie demanded.

Marc had expected the question. But he hadn’t expected to discuss it in front of Colin and Heddy. Marc didn’t have a whole lot of respect for the couple who had ignored their only son for most of his life.

“There’s plenty of time to decide,” Marc said evasively, gathering up his papers.

Louie turned to his son and daughter-in-law. “Why don’t you two go see the woman in Kent who has those eighteenth-century English enamel boxes for sale that you are so eager to add to your collection. I’ve some things to discuss with Truesdale, here.”

“She’s asking fifteen thousand apiece,” Colin said, leaning toward his father. “You’ll cover my check?”

“I will not,” Louie said, his irritation clear. “What do you do with your money?”

Colin’s smile flashed all his teeth, suddenly making them appear as the most prominent feature in his face. “I spend it, of course. That’s what money is for.”

Louie flipped his wrist dismissively, shooing away his son and daughter-in-law. Colin took hold of Heddy’s bony arm and headed out of the courtroom.

As soon as they left, Louie turned back to Marc.

“Now, what do you intend to do about my great-grandson?”

“I intend to do plenty. What do you want?”

“Well, for starters, I want to know his name.”

“It’s Nicholas Alexander.”

“Nicholas Alexander Demerchant,” Louie Demerchant said with definite approval.

“Nicholas Alexander Westbrook,” Marc corrected him.

Louie waved his hand as though the reminder was merely an insignificant impediment. Then his eyes suddenly snapped back toward Marc. “Wait a minute. You knew his name? All along?”

“No, not all along. I called Ariana Justice at her private-investigation firm yesterday during the noon break and asked her to start checking into the background of Remy Westbrook and her child. A.J. came by the office last night and filled me in on what she had learned so far. That’s how I knew his name and that his mother takes him to work with her and involves him in the sign-language research she’s conducting with a chimpanzee.”

“If you knew his name last night, why didn’t you call to tell me?”

“Because until you saw him this morning, you weren’t even sure he was David’s son. There wasn’t any point in telling you the name of a boy who might have been no relation to you.”