Undo Part 31

"That's the idea."

"Very good." William placed his cup and saucer on the table.

Rubbing his hands together he sat a little more upright. "Now, there is one small detail that I'm curious about. Have you spoken with Peter Jones?" His eyes locked on Matthew's.

"No," Matthew said, barely able to contain his surprise.

"I see," William said. "Has there been any communication between the two of you? A letter? An e-mail?"

"None."

"Hmm."

"Why do you ask? Is there a concern?"

"Well, it's more a curiosity than a concern really. Nothing to worry about. What's he doing now?"

"He's been in seclusion in Maine, at his vacation home. He still owns a large amount of Wallaby stock," Matthew added in an attempt to rea.s.sure the other man.

"Yes, well, that's no guarantee, is it." William said. It was not a question. He removed his gla.s.ses and lightly ma.s.saged his eyelids. "What I'm wondering about is the same thing I was curious about when I first contacted you, proposing this venture."

"Which is?" Matthew asked, fully knowing the reason before William delivered the words.

"My biggest - " William started, but then paused abruptly to select his choice of words. "My initial motivation for wanting Wallaby was, of course, Jones's product in the pipeline, the Joey. And what is the Joey, really, but the physical evidence of Jones's vision? So naturally, I'm curious about what he's up to, now that he's not spending his time at Wallaby."

This concern had never occurred to Matthew, and apparently his expression said as much.

"Matthew, don't worry, it's not going to change our arrangement,"

William said. "We want Wallaby, and especially the Joey technology."

Joey technology. Peter's invention. Matthew was at once overcome by a wave of jealousy and loathing. When would Wallaby be considered his? Once Wallaby was merged with ICP, would people still call it "the company founded by Peter Jones?" Would he, Matthew, be forgotten, like some sort of middle man?

William poured Matthew another gla.s.s of water. As he accepted it, William said, "There's no way you can persuade Jones to return to Wallaby?"

"That seems unlikely," Matthew said calmly, but what he really wanted to say, to shout, was that Wallaby was his now, and Peter Jones was gone for good.

"I see." William nodded and closed the binder, shutting with it any further discussion of Peter Jones. "When do you fly back?"

"Tomorrow."

William tapped the binder. "I'm going to have to spend some time with this before I'll have any questions for you." He glanced at his watch. "Do you have any other meetings while you're here?"

"None. I allotted a full day for us, and intended to go back tomorrow. However, if we're through, I'll go back tonight, and you can contact me when you're ready."

"Fine," William said, rising. He offered a few words of rea.s.surance. "It's all coming along well, Matthew." They shook hands outside William's office, and Matthew exited the suite.

Pressing the down elevator b.u.t.ton, he noticed his hand was a little unsteady. Now that their meeting was through, he was grateful to be leaving New York City a day sooner than planned.

"Come on," Matthew whispered, pressing the b.u.t.ton again and again.

As he stood brooding over William's surprise concern for Peter Jones, waiting for what felt like an eternity for the elevator to arrive, he absently chewed his thumbnail, wis.h.i.+ng in earnest for things to move more quickly.

"Hey, where're you off to so early?" Kate said, lifting her head from the pillow.

Climbing into his jeans, Peter nearly tripped himself in his pants legs as he turned to face her.

"Oops, sorry," he whispered, "I was trying to be quiet." He knelt next to the bed and kissed her. Her eyelids fluttered, wakefulness coming slowly. "Would you mind if we took a rain check on our trip to Boston today?" Her hair lay spread around the pillow, and he combed it with his fingers, smoothing it around her head.

She opened her eyes and shook her head, then smiled slowly, joyfully.

"Why the big grin?"

She lifted a hand from beneath the comforter and gently knocked her knuckles on his head. "Circus is in town," she said, cupping his chin.

"Well, I've been thinking," Peter said, running fingers through his hair.

"Mm hmm."

"When Byron and I talked the other night, you know, outside, I started thinking about some things."

"You don't say?" she said, with mock surprise. "Like when I kept trying to talk to you yesterday at the park and you were in another zone?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding, "then too. I started coming up with a concept I think he could help me work through. There's something missing, a link I guess, and if I talk to him about it he'll probably be able to help me come up with some ideas."

"Hey, you're going to be busy, it sounds like. Maybe I should just go down to Boston myself, then home. That okay?"

"If it's okay with you. I mean, if you want. I'm sorry," he said, planting his hands on either side of her head and looking into her eyes. "I just have to talk to him about this."

"Petey, I'm ecstatic you want to see Byron this morning. I'll be back next weekend. If, that is, you'll still want to see me."

"You're a goof sometimes." He thanked her with a kiss, then went back to getting dressed.

"Hey," she said, propping up on one elbow as he slipped on his dock shoes.

"Hmm?"

"Who's calling who a goof?" She tossed a pillow at him. "You're inside-out, Einstein."

He looked down at his s.h.i.+rt, pulled it over his head, reversed it, and put it back on. "Thanks," he said, then leaned over and kissed her good-bye.

"Don't mention it."

On his way out of the house he stopped in the kitchen and wrote "I'm a lucky guy," on a little yellow Post-it note. He signed it with a tiny heart and pressed it onto the coffee machine.

He walked the short distance to the Holmes house quickly, his thoughts turning round and round. With the tourist season over, the town was somber and cool. Here and there a car occupied the driveway of one of the homes along the inlet, and even fewer boats remained docked. He arrived at the Holmes place just as Grace was coming around from the side of the house carrying a potted plant in her hands. "This one isn't going to make it," she said, holding the sickly plant up for him to see.

"Sure isn't," Peter said. "Is Byron here?"