Undo Part 52

Slowly, he lifted his open palm, held it there briefly, then stood and left the room.

"Very well," Matthew said and lowered his hand. The others followed suit then silently gathered their things and left the room.

All alone now, he lowered himself to a chair with an exhausted sigh. He had done it again. First Peter. Then the strategic alliance. Now the merger. An agreeable sensation of vengeance washed through him when he thought about Peter Jones and whatever plan he had up his own sleeve. For the second time he had voted Peter out, crus.h.i.+ng whatever his secret scheme with ICP might have been.

But then he was. .h.i.t by a sudden troubling thought. What if Peter's new project actually was superior to Joey? What if William no longer wanted Wallaby? What if the two had already decided to do business together?

He bolted from his chair and raced from the board room. He had to hurry and try to reach William after he was through with Peter Jones, even if that meant intercepting him at the airport.

She had considered driving straight to Jean-Pierre's after finis.h.i.+ng her business with the bank, but decided instead to drop the car at home first and walk to his cottage. The stroll and the fresh air would calm her.

In her tight fist she carried the receipt from the funds transferred to Jean-Pierre's Swiss account. Transaction complete.

Very soon she would find herself strolling to their own stable on their own ranch, with as many horses as she wanted. She envisioned a large property with a simple, stately home, the stable not far from her own back door, nestled among the rolling hills where she and Jean-Pierre would ride.

She rounded the bend of the path that opened onto the ranch.

There were a few riders tramping out to the hills, a trainer in the ring was instructing a young student. Jennifer spotted her and waved from her doorstep just before going inside. Greta returned the greeting with a wide, happy sweep of her arm.

She doesn't even know, Greta thought. For that matter, no one knew about her and Jean-Pierre. They had been discreet with the affair, seeing each other when Matthew was out of town, which had been often in the past months. She still rode almost every morning, and often Jean-Pierre joined her. Together they would hunt out a secluded spot in the hills with a beautiful view, dismount from their horses, and make love.

Yes, that was how it would be almost every day in her new life with Jean-Pierre. As she approached the rear of his cottage, she noticed the drawn curtains on his bedroom window. Was he napping?

She knocked, but there was only silence.

She twisted the doork.n.o.b. It was unlocked, and she decided to let herself in - just as the door was jerked from her hand as it swung inward.

The girl from the sus.h.i.+ restaurant stood there, shocked.

"You!" Greta screeched.

Laurence took a terrified step backward and attempted to swing the door shut in Greta's face.

Greta charged and trapped the girl between herself and the kitchen table. "What are you doing here?" she screamed.

Laurence lifted her hands to protect herself, just as Jean-Pierre rushed in from the other room and stepped between them.

"Greta, wait," he pleaded, grabbing Greta by the shoulder.

"Laurence is one of my students."

"What?" Greta said, turning to him with a confused and exasperated expression, the girl temporarily forgotten.

"Yes," he said. "In fact, it was your husband who referred her to the ranch, knowing that you kept your horse here. Please, let go of her darling. Come inside. Let me get you something? He spoke as if he were entertaining guests, three old friends gathering for lunch.

Laurence had managed to extricate herself from the threesome, and was presently collecting her bag.

"She" Greta said, "is having an affair with my husband."

"I know," Jean-Pierre said indifferently.

"You knew?"

"No, I said I know. She just told me now. She was so upset that she stopped off to tell me she wasn't going to take her lesson this evening, because of what happened at the restaurant."

"And she'll be leaving, right now," Greta said.

"I was just going," Laurence said with a show of dignity.

"I've had enough of your face for one day," Greta said, edging toward her.

"The feeling is mutual, Mrs. Locke," Laurence replied with a smirk. Then, "I must say, after finally meeting you in person, I can stop feeling guilty about my relations.h.i.+p with Matthew." She brushed a long wayward lock of hair from her face. "You, madam, and I use the term generously, are a quintessential b.i.t.c.h."

Greta's mouth gaped. "You little tramp!" She lunged for Laurence's throat.

"Stop," Jean-Pierre commanded, catching Greta by the waist just in time. "Go," he said to Laurence.

"I don't ever want to see you again!" Greta shouted after the girl.

Laurence climbed into her car and slammed the door shut, started the engine, and rolled down the window. She look as though she were about to shout a retort, but then she thought the better of it. Or so it seemed, until she lifted her closed fist and ever so slowly raised her middle finger at Greta.

Greta made another lunge for the girl but Jean-Pierre's hold on her was too strong to break away.

Laurence laughed heartily at this little show of helplessness, then gunned the engine and she raced away in her BMW, kicking up a great cloud of dust in her wake.

Jean-Pierre pulled Greta inside and closed the door. Before she could say anything, his mouth was on hers. She struggled out of his grip and fixed her shoulders squarely against the door.

"What is this - what the h.e.l.l is going on here, Jean-Pierre? I don't like the way this looks."

He considered her with some amus.e.m.e.nt, gave her his s.e.xy look.

"What the h.e.l.l's so funny?" she said. He touched his finger to her little horseshoe charm and her breath caught and held, and she felt at once like she wanted to hit him and kiss him.

"You are, Greta. You are overreacting," he said, leaning closer.

He kissed the charm, his breath hot on her throat, then lower.

His touch was distorting whatever semblance of perspective she had - she was so confused. She shook herself from him and pressed him back with both fists. "Wait. Stop. Just what do you expect me to think? One minute that little b.i.t.c.h is sucking tuna fish off my husband's fingers, the next she's traipsing out your front door!"

"I don't expect you to think what you're thinking," he said calmly. Too calm, she was beginning to see, to be guilty.

"But Jean-Pierre," Greta said, still not sure, "why haven't you told me about her?"

He shrugged. "What is there to tell?" He took her wrists in his hands. "Do you really think she and I are something?"

"She's very pretty," Greta said. "And very young."

"Not as beautiful as you are to me," he said, kissing away the creases on her forehead. "Greta. I live here, and I make love to you. Ms. Maupin, who, as you are now aware, is your husband's lover, lives in San Francisco. How many times, Greta, has he told you he's working late at the office? Do you ever check on him when he goes away? Are you so certain he isn't just fifty miles from home and at her place, not where he says he's going." He touched his finger to her chin. "Need I go on?"