The Story of Son(2)

Hopefully it would be quick.

Claire had only been out to the Leeds estate once before, to introduce herself after her father’s death. The meeting had gone well. Miss Leeds evidently had seen pictures of Claire through her father and had approved of Claire’s “ladylike deportment.”

Which was a joke. Although it was true that clothes could make both the man and the woman, and Claire’s wardrobe was full of conservative suits with below-the-knee skirts, that was surface gloss. She had her father’s head for business and his aggressive streak, too. She might look like a lady from her chignon to her sensible pumps, but on the inside she was a killer.

Most people picked up on her true nature about two minutes after meeting her and not just because she was a brunette. But it was a good thing Miss Leeds was fooled. She was from the old school and then some—part of a generation where proper women didn’t work at all, much less as high-powered attorneys in Manhattan. Frankly, Claire had been surprised Miss Leeds hadn’t gone with one of the other partners, but the two of them did get along for the most part. So far, the only hiccup in the relationship had occurred during that first face-to-face when the woman had asked whether Claire was married.

Claire was most definitely not married. Never had been, not interested, no thank you. Last thing she needed was some man with opinions about how late she stayed at the firm or how hard she worked or where they would live or what they would have for dinner. Eliza Leeds, however, was clearly of the you’re-defined-by-what-was-sitting-next-to-you-in-pants set. So Claire had braced herself as she’d explained that, no, she had no husband.

Miss Leeds had seemed daunted, but then she’d rallied, moving swiftly on to the boyfriend question. The answer was the same. Claire did not have and didn’t want one of those and no, no pets, either. There had been a long silence. Then the woman had smiled, made a brief comment along the lines of “my, how things have changed,” and that was where they’d left things. At least for the moment.

Every time Miss Leeds called the office, she asked whether Claire had found a nice man. Which was fine. Whatever. Different generation. And the woman took the no’s with grace—maybe because she herself had never been married. Evidently she had an unfulfilled romantic streak or something.

If Claire was honest, the whole relationship thing bored her. No, she didn’t hate men. No, her parents’ marriage hadn’t been dysfunctional. No, in fact her father had been a very supportive male figure. There was no bad fallout from a relationship, no self-esteem issues, no pathology, no history of abuse. She was smart and she loved her work and she was grateful for the life she had. The home and hearth stuff was just made for other people. Bottom line? She totally respected women who became wives and mothers but didn’t envy them their burden of caretaking. And she didn’t have a hole in her heart on Christmas morning because she was alone. And she didn’t need soccer games or drawings on her refrigerator or homemade gifts to feel fulfilled. And Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day were just two more pages on the calendar.

What she loved was the battle in the boardroom. The negotiation. The tricky ins and outs of the law. The energizing responsibility of representing the interests of a ten-billion-dollar corporation—whether it was buying someone else or divesting assets or firing a CEO for having illicit eight-digit personal expenses.

All of that was what juiced her and, as she was at the top of her field and in her early thirties, she was in a damn good place in life. The only trouble she had was with people who didn’t understand a woman like her. It was such a double standard. Men could spend their entire lives devoted to work and they were viewed as good earners, not antisocial spinster-aunts with intimacy issues. Why couldn’t a woman be the same?

When Caldwell’s span bridge finally appeared, Claire was ready to get the meeting over with, head back to her apartment on Park Avenue, and start prepping for the Technitron showdown on Tuesday. Hell, maybe there would be enough time to even go back to the office.

The Leeds estate consisted of ten acres of sculptured grounds, four outbuildings, and a wall that you’d need rapelling gear and the upper body strength of a personal trainer to surmount. The mansion was a huge pile of stone set on a rise, an ostentatious display of new wealth erected during the Gothic Revival period of the 1890s. To Claire, it looked like something Vincent Price would pay taxes on.

Navigating the circular drive, she parked in front of the cathedral-worthy entrance and set her cell phone to vibrate. Picking up her bag, she approached the house thinking she should have a cross in one hand and a dagger in the other. Man, if she had Leeds’s money, she’d live in something a little less dreary. Like a mausoleum.

One side of the double doors was opened before she got to the lion’s head knocker. Leeds’s butler, who was a hundred and eight if he was a day, bowed.

“Good evening, Miss Stroughton. May I inquire, did madam leave the keys in the car?”

Was his name Fletcher? Yeah, that was it. And Miss Leeds liked you to use his name. “No, Fletcher.”

“Perhaps you will give them to me? In the event your car must be moved.” When she frowned, he said quietly, “I’m afraid Miss Leeds is not doing well. If an ambulance must come . . .”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is she ill or . . .” Claire let the sentence drift off as she handed over her keys.

“She’s very weak. Please, come with me.”