Undo Part 56

Instead he put the pen down, looked her in the eye. "What do you feel?"

"Feel? About this? Excellent."

"No. I mean about me."

"You?" She looked away for a second. He could see her expression soften. "I'm not sure." She met his eyes. "But it's not anger anymore. Really it isn't."

"No, I don't mean that."

"Guilt? Nah, I'm done with that."

"No," he said. "No, not that." He looked at her forehead.

Unwrinkled and smooth, pure. Eyes so sharp, intense, curious.

Cautious. He remembered what it had been like to touch her neck, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Back to her eyes.

"Is there anything else?" he said. "I don't know. I mean - love?"

She blinked her eyes closed for a few moments, and when she opened them again they were glistening. But from what emotion he could not tell.

"Peter, just sign it."

PART V

Chapter 21

He had not slept all night.

It was not because he missed sleeping in the same bed with Greta.

That, of course, had ended. Nor was it because he missed sleeping with Laurence. At almost exactly the same time Wallaby started its merger negotiations with ICP, Laurence had taken a temporary leave of absence to, she said, care for her ill father. It was just as well, considering what had happened to Greta and everything that had followed. Besides, the majority of his speaking engagements had been postponed or canceled, and he spent his time attending meeting after meeting, and putting together piece of the business plan, which consumed most of his waking and sleeping hours. Relentlessly, he studied ICP's complex corporate structure and product line. Once more his favorite bed partner was paperwork - binders, reports, a.n.a.lyses, and technical doc.u.ments, a courts.h.i.+p that all led up to today.

Today. The reason he had not been able to sleep all night. He climbed out of the bed and strolled leisurely through the dark house, crossing through the living room. A few months ago, after Greta's accident, he had moved the sofa and furniture against the wall, among the many stacked boxes that occupied the room.

Today was the most important day of his life. After more than three long and arduous years of cultivation, he was about to harvest his greatest achievement. The merger of ICP and Wallaby.

Finally his monumental plan would reach its climax. And afterward he would begin his new plan - But not so fast, he warned himself. One step at a time.

The emerging dawn lit up the kitchen with a dull gray. He opened the refrigerator, considered making breakfast, then decided against it. He had no appet.i.te. Instead he poured himself a gla.s.s of milk and gazed out the kitchen window while he sipped, pondering his new and exciting future.

His presence would be required in both New York and California.

Maybe he would set up his primary residence in New York, and find something smaller in California, perhaps even in San Francisco.

Such a commute would be trivial, for with ICP's takeover, the issue of highway miles would disappear and he would do his work on his rides between office and residence in the chauffeured limousine he would be ent.i.tled to.

A rush of elation coursed through him, and he decided to go for a run. Besides, it was too early to leave, and a run would pa.s.s the time until he had to get ready and meet William Harrell at the announcement.

He placed his gla.s.s in the sink and left the kitchen, changed into sweats. He needed to be at the hall by nine o'clock. He tied his sneaker and stretched through a few warm-up exercises, then collected his house keys.

Just as he was about to leave, the telephone rang.

He checked his jogging watch and picked up the handset. It was William Harrell. They exchanged greetings, and William asked Matthew if they could meet for breakfast before the announcement.

"I was just going to go out for a run, but sure."

"Go for your run," William told him. "I'll meet you at the Good Earth restaurant at seven-fifteen."

"Will do," Matthew said, and asked William what was so pressing that they needed to meet before the event.

But William had already hung up, leaving Matthew do presume that his business partner probably wanted to go over a few last-minute details before the big show.

Although he had no way of knowing it, he had presumed correctly.

There was indeed one minor detail left to go over.

When she heard him leave the second time, after his run, Greta climbed out of bed.

She too had not slept very well. She was too excited. She stretched and considered climbing onto her exercise cycle for a quick workout. Checking the clock however, she decided to skip it. She would rather use whatever spare time she had to make sure she had not forgotten to pack anything that the s.h.i.+pping company would later send to France.

Standing at the window, she gazed out at the dawning day. Across the lake she could see Jean-Pierre's cottage. The lights were off. She pictured him in her mind, sleeping peacefully. No more would she sleep alone, she thought to herself, letting go of the curtain.

She took eggs and ham from the refrigerator and set to making herself breakfast. Marie didn't usually arrive until eight o'clock, and besides, she thought dreamily as she cracked the eggs into a bowl, it was good practice for the big country breakfasts she would make for Jean-Pierre and herself.

While she prepared her eggs, the pictures he had shown her when he returned from France last week flashed through her mind. It had taken him a while, but he had finally found them the ranch of her dreams. How she had missed him! It had been a long and painful two months, she reflected, but today would finally signal the end of her suffering with Matthew.

After what he had done to her, nearly killing her that day they had fought over her bowl, he ended his resistance to her request for a divorce. On the contrary, because of what he had done, her case against him was even stronger, and he had no choice but to agree to her lawyer's terms. The final papers would be drawn up any day.

She seated herself at the breakfast table. While she ate she checked the list she had been keeping. Everything she wanted s.h.i.+pped was checked on the list. Her clothes were already packed, and their plane tickets were the only unchecked item on the list.

Jean-Pierre had taken care of them. Still, she would ask him to show her the tickets when she arrived at his cottage in the limousine. Just to be safe.

She looked at the clock again and saw that it was a good thing she had gotten out of bed early. Somehow she had managed to spend nearly a half hour sitting just there dawdling, daydreaming. The car was due to arrive at eight o'clock sharp, and now she would have to hurry.

She left her dirty dishes for the housekeeper and trotted briskly to her room, noticing outside the clouds darkening the sky. It had rained all week but last night's weather report for today had promised a possible break in the showers. She prayed they wouldn't have to take off under stormy conditions, for it would be a miserable way to start off on their new life together.

Chapter 22

"Ladies and gentlemen, please find your seats," the announcer's voice boomed through the bustling auditorium.

The seating was already jammed to nearly full capacity as thousands of Wallaby employees filled the auditorium. A few front rows remained vacant, reserved for VIPs and the press. The stage was illuminated with a bright circle of light focused on an empty podium.

Backstage, William Harrell parted the curtain an inch and peered out at the gabby crowd. Hank Towers squeezed in beside him and also surveyed the crowd.

"I've never given a speech to so many people dressed like that,"

William remarked.