The first order of business was to get rid of Mitchell.
He glanced at the SUV and raised a hand in a casual salute to Mitchell’s faithful factotum, Bryce, who waited stoically behind the wheel. Bryce nodded once, acknowledging the greeting with a military-style inclination of his head.
Gabe turned back to Mitchell. “So, how was Hawaii?”
“Hawaii was fine.” Mitchell scowled. “Hawaii is always fine. I didn’t come here to talk about my vacation.”
“I was trying to be civil.”
“Bullshit. You’re trying to slip and slide around this thing. Don’t waste my time. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck yesterday. I want to know what’s up with you and Marilyn Thornley.”
“Absolutely nothing of any great interest to anyone, including me.” Gabe folded his arms. Nothing like a clear conscience when dealing with the old man.
The tension that simmered between the two of them lately was a new element in their relationship. Gabe could not pinpoint when it had first begun to emerge. Sometime during the last two years, he thought. It had grown remarkably more acute since Rafe’s marriage, however.
In the old days, after he and Rafe had gone to live with Mitchell following the death of their parents, there had been relatively few conflicts between Gabe and his grandfather. Rafe had been the rebel, the one who had gone toe-to-toe with Mitchell at every turn.
But looking back, Gabe knew that he had taken the opposite path, not because he had wanted to please Mitchell but because he was committed to his future goal. All he had cared about was his dream of proving that a Madison could be a success. In high school he had charted a course that he had calculated would enable him to achieve his objective and he had stuck to it. He had been the one who had gotten the good grades, stayed out of trouble and graduated from college because he could see that was how the Hartes did things. They had been his role models. It was clear to him, even as a boy, that the traditional Madison approach to life led to poor outcomes.
In the end, he had achieved his objective. He had put together a business empire that rivaled Harte Investments. One of these days, it would be even bigger than Harte.
He knew that now, although he had not built Madison Commercial with the conscious intention of pleasing his grandfather. Mitchell’s approval had been one of the satisfying side effects of success. He had taken it for granted for some time.
The realization that nothing he had accomplished seemed to matter to Mitchell anymore left him with a peculiar, empty feeling deep inside. This morning, for the first time, he realized that anger was seeping in to fill the void.
What right did the old man have to give him advice on how to run his life?
Mitchell squinted, searching Gabe’s face. Whatever he saw there appeared to reassure him somewhat.
“Marilyn didn’t hang around?”
“Not for long,” Gabe said mildly.
“She and Thornley are calling it quits, you know,” Mitchell said.
“I heard.”
“Word is, she’s got her own plans to go into politics.”
Gabe dropped his arms and wrapped his hands around the wet railing. Damn, it was cold. In another few minutes his teeth would probably start to chatter. “She told me that much yesterday when she stopped by to see me. Probably do okay.”
“You know what she’s after, don’t you?”
“Sure. Don’t worry, Mitch, I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck either. It’s obvious that Marilyn is looking for someone to help finance her political career.”
“I hear her father is a little pissed because she blew so much cash on Thornley’s campaign. They say Caldwell isn’t real eager to pump more money into another political race, even if it is his daughter who is running this time.”
“The Caldwells will come around. Eventually. They always do for Marilyn.”
Mitchell nodded. “That woman always did have a way of getting what she wanted, even when she was a little girl. Still, no politician ever has enough cash. She could use a rich husband with connections. Looks like you’re back on her radar scope.”
“I’m not interested in being married to a politician. If she doesn’t know that already, I think she’ll figure it out real quick. Marilyn is smart.”
“The two of you had something going there for a while. Maybe she figures she can relight some old flames.”
Gabe shrugged. “Whatever we had was over a long time ago.”
“Don’t count on her giving up easily.”
“Okay, I won’t count on it.”
Mitchell’s hawklike face tightened in a shrewd expression. “You know, things would be a whole lot simpler if you got married.”
Gabe gripped the railing and said nothing.
“Marilyn Thornley wouldn’t be hanging around here at suppertime if you had a wife,” Mitchell said.
Gabe looked at him. “Don’t start.”
“A man your age oughtta be married. Hell, I was married at your age.”
“Would that have been Alicia or Janine? No, wait, Alicia was number three, wasn’t she? So was it Susan? It can’t have been Trish because I’m sure you told me once that Trish was number one. Must have been Janine.”
Mitchell hammered the cane against the boards. “The point is, I was married.”
“And divorced. A couple of times, at least at that point. Two down and two more to go.”
“So I screwed up once or twice.”
“Four times in all.”
“Shoot and damn.” Mitchell’s voice went up a few decibels. “You’re supposed to learn from my mistakes.”
“Madisons never learn from their mistakes. Family tradition.”
Mitchell raised the cane and leveled it at him as if it were a rapier. “You know what your problem is? You’re going about this marriage business all wrong.”
“You’re certainly an authority on the subject.”
Mitchell snorted. “Should have known you couldn’t go after a woman the way you go after investment prospects for Madison Commercial.”
“I did manage to figure that out. That’s why I signed up with Private Arrangements.”
“What the hell kind of results do you expect from a computer?” Mitchell shot back. “I’m not saying Lillian Harte isn’t a smart lady. No such thing as a stupid Harte. And I’m not saying she doesn’t know how to run her business. But the fact is, you aren’t going to have any luck finding a wife with a computer.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a Madison, that’s why not. When it comes to women, a Madison relies on his gut, not his brain.”
“And look where it’s gotten us,” Gabe said. “Three generations of screwed-up relationships.”
“Rafe broke that jinx.” Mitchell lowered the cane with grim dignity. “I expect you to do the same, by God. But you’re gonna have to stop fooling around with Madison Commercial for a while and pay attention to what’s important.”
That did it.
Gabe felt his Madison temper flash through him with all the stunning heat of summer lightning. It crackled and flared, surging forth from the windowless vault where he kept it locked and chained in the name of establishing total control.
He released the railing and turned on Mitchell.
“Fooling around with Madison Commercial? Is that what you call what I’ve been doing all these years? Fooling around with Madison Commercial?”
Mitchell blinked. Then the lines at the corners of his eyes creased in wary concern. “Simmer down, son. Just trying to have us a reasonable discussion here.”
“Fooling around with Madison Commercial? Is that what you call building a major venture capital company that did a few hundred million dollars’ worth of business last year?”
“Now, see here, Gabe, this isn’t what—”
“Maybe it has slipped your mind that your stock in Madison Commercial is the primary source of your retirement income.”
“Shoot and damn, this isn’t about money.”
<
br /> “Not about money? All I ever heard from you when I was growing up was how Harte-Madison had been destroyed because you and Sullivan Harte went to war over a woman. How many times did you tell me how you’d been financially ruined because Claudia Banner made fools out of you and Harte? A couple of thousand, maybe?”
“What happened to Harte-Madison all those years ago has got nothing to do with this.”
“The Hartes recovered financially because they had the brains and the determination to concentrate on business. You could have done the same thing, but you didn’t, did you, Mitch? You preferred to get married. Over and over again.”
“This is your grandfather you’re dealing with here. Show some respect.”
Gabe flexed his hands at his sides. “I proved to you and the whole damn world that a Madison could be as successful as a Harte.”
“I’m not saying you haven’t been successful with Madison Commercial. But the fact that the company’s making a profit isn’t what’s important here.”
“Tell me that the next time you cash your quarterly dividend check.”
“Stop talking about money.” Mitchell whacked the cane against a post. “We’re talking about getting your priorities straight.”
“Madison Commercial is a success because I’ve had my priorities straight all along.”
“If you’d had ’em straight, you’d have been married by now. I’d have me some grandkids.”
“Don’t tell me how to run my life, Mitch.”
“Someone’s gotta do it.”
“And you think you’re qualified?”
The door opened.
Gabe went still. He was vaguely aware that Mitchell did the same.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Lillian said from the other side of the screen. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
Gabe shoved his hand through his hair. Just what he needed.
There was nothing but acute silence from his grandfather. He wondered how he was going to take this turn of events.
Mitchell stood transfixed. He gazed at Lillian as if she were a mermaid who had just appeared at the edge of the bay.
Gabe switched his attention back to Lillian and did a quick assessment. She was dressed in the black trousers and the turquoise-slashed sweater she had worn last night. A little dressy for day wear but it just might pass, especially with Mitchell, who didn’t pay attention to the nuances of fashion. Her hair was caught up in a neat twist. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but there was nothing unusual in that. In his experience she never wore much.
With luck Mitchell would assume that Lillian had just walked over from her place to join him for breakfast.
She looked out at the two silent men with an expression of amused interest.
“Am I interrupting anything?” she asked politely.
Neither said a word.
“It’s a little chilly out there,” she said. “Why don’t you both come inside? I’m making coffee.” She turned away from the screen. “Don’t forget to bring Bryce with you,” she called over her shoulder.
Bryce collected his cup of coffee with a short, brusque “Thank you, ma’am” and went back out to the SUV.
“Bryce isn’t real keen on socializing,” Mitchell said.
Lillian sank down onto the sofa. “I can tell.”
Nonchalantly she watched Gabe where he stood at the window, his mug gripped in both hands. He had disappeared into the bedroom while she had poured coffee. When he reappeared a few minutes later he wore a dark flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his strong forearms. The neckline of a black crew-neck tee was visible at his throat. Must have been a little chilly out there on the porch, she thought.
The tension in the tiny front room was charged with remnants of the quarrel she had interrupted.
When she had awakened to the sound of the heated argument, her first instinct had been to get dressed and slip out the back door. She was fairly certain that was the course of action Gabe would have preferred.
She might have done just that, sparing everyone, including herself, this awkward scene. But halfway down the hall she had overheard Gabe. Fooling around with Madison Commercial? Is that what you call what I’ve been doing all these years?
The frustration and stark pain in his words had stopped her in her tracks, canceling all thought of disappearing out the back door.
Mitchell studied Lillian. “Heard you were in town. Going to be here for a while?”
She took a sip of coffee. “Yes.”
“Your family’s place isn’t far from here.”
“No. A short walk along the bluffs.”
A speculative gleam appeared in Mitchell’s eyes. “So, you walked on over here for coffee, is that it?”
“I walked over here, yes,” Lillian said.
At the window, Gabe tensed a little, as though preparing himself for battle.
Lillian pretended to ignore him. What she had told Mitchell was the truth as far as it went. Admittedly, it was the truth unencumbered by pesky little details such as those pertaining to the exact time and day she had made the trek, but that was not her problem. Mitchell had obviously decided to play inquisitor, but he was a Madison and she was a Harte. She was under no obligation to tell him everything he wanted to know.
Mitchell angled his chin toward the gray mist outside the window and looked concerned. “Pretty wet out there to be taking a walk.”
“Yes, it is quite damp this morning,” she agreed. “But what else can you expect this time of year?”
Gabe took a swallow of coffee. He did not speak, but she knew that Mitchell’s blunt questioning was stoking the flames of his anger. She could only hope that he would have enough sense not to lose his temper again.
“A real coincidence, you and Gabe both deciding to take a little vacation here in Eclipse Bay at the same time, isn’t it?” Mitchell said.
“Just one of those things,” Lillian said.
“How long you going to be here?” Mitchell asked.
Gabe turned around at that. “What business is it of yours how long she intends to stay here?”
Mitchell glowered. “Just trying to make polite conversation.”
“Sure,” Gabe said. “That’s you, all right. Polite.”
Lillian cleared her throat. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to be here for quite a while, I’ve closed my business in Portland.”
Mitchell’s attention snapped back to her. “You shut down your matchmaking operation?”
“Yes.”
Mitchell looked thoughtful. “So you’re the one.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Mitchell shrugged. “The one your dad’s going to groom to take over Harte Investments. Never figured it would be you. No offense, but you always seemed to be a little on the flaky side.”
“And here we thought my flakiness was a closely held family secret.”
Mitchell ignored that, busy with his own logic. “Well, makes sense, when you think about it. I reckon you’re the only choice left now that Hannah’s fixin’ to open the inn with Rafe, and your brother quit the company to write those mystery novels.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m not going to go to work for my father. I closed Private Arrangements so that I could paint full time.”
“Paint what?” Mitchell looked nonplussed. “Houses? Cars?”
“Pictures.”
“Pictures.” If he had looked nonplussed a moment ago, he was clearly floored now. “You mean real paintings? The kind they put in museums?”
“I should be so lucky.” Lillian drummed her fingers on her mug, aware that Gabe was watching her with an odd expression. “Octavia Brightwell is going to give me my first show in Portland in a few weeks.”
Mitchell shook his head. “Well, shoot and damn. If that don’t beat all. Bet your folks and your grandfather are climbing the walls about now. Bad enough having a writer in the family. Now they’ve got themselves a real live artist.”
“I haven’t told them yet that I plan t
o paint full time,” Lillian said carefully. “In fact, they don’t even know that I’ve closed Private Arrangements.”
“Don’t worry, they won’t hear it from me,” he said. “But I sure would pay big bucks to be a fly on the wall when you tell ’em that you’re going to quit working to paint pictures.”
Lillian stiffened. “They’ll understand.”
“They may understand, but they sure as hell aren’t going to be real thrilled about it.” Mitchell was almost chortling. “Sullivan sweated blood putting Harte Investments together after our company went under. And your father has worked in the business his whole life. Everyone figured one of you three kids would take over and manage it for another generation. Now, one by one, you’re all peeling off to do your own thing.”
He was right, she thought. But she didn’t need the guilt trip this morning.
“Nick’s son, Carson, may develop an interest in the business when he gets older,” she said.
Mitchell snorted. “Your brother’s boy is only, what? Four? Five?”
“Five.”
“It’ll be twenty years at least before he’s even ready to think about taking on a job like running Harte Investments, assuming he wants to do it in the first place.” Mitchell squinted. “Your dad’s in his early sixties. He can’t wait that long to turn the company over to the next generation.”
“It’s no secret that Dad plans to retire sometime in the next couple of years,” she admitted. “He and Mom want to establish a charitable foundation aimed at teaching disadvantaged young people how to run a business.”
“If he wants out, he’ll have to sell or merge the company.” Mitchell pursed his lips. “Probably make a truckload of money, but for all intents and purposes, Harte Investments will come to an end with this generation.”
“It’s just a business,” Lillian blurted.
“Just a business, my left, uh, foot.” Mitchell took another sip of coffee and lowered his mug very slowly. “This is Harte Investments we’re talking about.”
Lillian became aware of the fact that Gabe had turned away from the window. He was watching her intently. She looked at him and then back at Mitchell. Both pairs of green eyes were identical. It sent a chill down her spine.