Envy(85)

“Made me sad? Hardly,” she said, giving her head a firm shake. “Has he made me angry? Yes. Would I like to throttle him? Definitely. He’s provoking on every level, starting with how he approaches his profession. Only rarely does he take a suggestion or criticism without first putting up an argument, which invariably turns fierce.

“He stays hidden away in that house, on that island. Lovely as the house and island are, he uses them as a refuge. He should be out among people. A writer usually seizes every opportunity to promote his work. But not him. Oh, no. He adopts this lofty attitude and pretends to be above all that, but I know better. The reason he remains a recluse is because of his disability.

“Oh, have I told you that, Dad? He’s wheelchair-bound. I didn’t learn that until I got there. At first I was shocked because when talking to him over the telephone, I got no indication that he was in any way impaired, except when it came to manners. It took me totally by surprise. But after a while… I don’t know, Dad, it’s strange. When I look at him now, I don’t even see the wheelchair.”

She paused to reflect on that, realizing how profoundly true the statement was. She no longer saw Parker’s chair or his disability, and she wondered at what point that had happened.

“I suppose it’s the potency of his personality that makes his disability seem not just inconsequential, but invisible. He’s got an extraordinary command of the language. Even his bawdy—make that crude—vocabulary is impressive.

“He has a sly sense of humor. Wicked, sometimes. He can be awfully grouchy, too, but then I suppose he’s entitled to be. Anyone in his circumstances would be resentful. I mean, he’s young, in his prime, so his bitterness over being confined to a wheelchair is understandable and forgivable.

“He’s self-conscious of his scars, but he shouldn’t be. People, especially women, would find him attractive no matter what his legs look like. He’s not… not handsome, exactly, but… he’s got an… an animal magnetism, I guess you’d call it. You sense an energy radiating from him even when he’s sitting still.

“When he speaks to you, you’re drawn right into his eyes. The intensity with which he holds your attention makes up for his incapacity. But don’t get the impression that he’s feeble. He’s not. In fact he’s quite strong. His hands are…”

His hands. When they had kept her head in place for his kiss. When they had trapped her hips and held her still beside his chair. Those times they had felt incredibly strong and commanding. Yet at other times, like when he had plucked a leaf from her hair, his touch had been light and deft, even playful.

When she’d held a seashell in her palm for him to admire, he had traced the delicate whorls with his fingertip gingerly, as though afraid to apply too much pressure and risk crushing it. A woman would never have to flinch from his touch.

“He’s the most complex individual I’ve ever met,” she said huskily. “Extremely talented.” She conjured up Parker’s face and heard herself saying, “Also angry. Very angry. You can sense it in his writing. But even when he’s relaxed and joking with Mike, his anger is detectable.

“His smiles have a disturbing element. There’s a cruelty to them, and that’s unfortunate because I don’t believe he could be cruel at all if not for the anger. It’s always there, just beneath the surface.

“There’s a passage in his novel where he describes Roark’s anger toward Todd. He compares it to a serpent gliding through still, dark water, never surfacing, never revealing itself, but constantly there, silent, sinister, and deadly, waiting to poison them both.

“Probably he’s just angry over being trapped in a wheelchair. But I sense there’s something… something I don’t know, something I’ve missed, like there’s one more secret yet to come to light.”

She laughed softly. “I can’t imagine what it might be. He’s sprung so many surprises on me. Not all of them good.” She took a sip of wine and raised her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “That’s the best way I know to answer your question.”

Daniel studied her thoughtfully for a long moment as he continued to pack tobacco into his pipe. He rarely lighted it. He just liked the ritualistic activity. It gave him something to do while assembling his thoughts.

When he finally spoke, it was to quietly say, “Actually, Maris, my question referred to Noah.”

Embarrassed, she flushed hotly. For five solid minutes she had rattled on about Parker. “Oh… oh, well,” she stammered, “yes, he… I wouldn’t say Noah made me sad, but I was upset over his meeting with WorldView. I was even more upset that he chose not to tell me about it.”

Daniel set the pipe aside and picked up his tumbler. As he contemplated the amber contents, he asked, “Did Noah tell you that he had a meeting with Howard the afternoon he killed himself?”

The manner in which he had posed the question caused her throat to constrict. This wasn’t a casual inquiry. “He mentioned it.”

“It took place only a couple of hours before Howard ended his life.”

Maris lost all appetite for the wine. Setting the crystal stem on the end table, she wiped condensation, or perspiration, off her palms. “What was the nature of their meeting?”

“According to Noah, Howard needed him to sign off on the final draft of a contract between us and one of our foreign licensees. Noah approved the amended language and that was the extent of it.”