Free More Than You Know by Penny Vincenzi Page B

Berenson’s voice was suddenly rather intense. “Stay for a coffee. It’s only just after ten.”
    “Oh—well, yes, that might be nice But then—”
    “Of course. It’d just be nice to … well, to chat a bit more. I’m feeling rather wide-awake now. It’s only, what, six or so in Charleston. Mother, I’ll see you to the elevator. Don’t turn into a pumpkin, will you, Miss Shaw?”
    “I won’t. And please call me Scarlett.”
    He was back in a few minutes, summoned the waiter. A brandy and soda. “What about you, Scarlett?”
    “Oh—no, thank you.”
    “Very well. Now … why don’t we take our coffee in the lounge?”
    “Fine. Yes. Why not?”
    Why did he make her feel so flustered? She just wasn’t a flustered sort of person.
    The lounge was half-empty; he led her to a large sofa by the fireplace, with its back to the room, sat down beside her. Rather close, she couldn’t help noticing.
    “So,” he said, “let’s talk about you now. Are you a very independent single girl? Or is there someone in your life? Do you have a boyfriend? I’m sure you do.”
    “Well—several, you know, but no one special.”
    “Ah. And your family—do you have brothers and sisters?”
    She began to talk, decided to be completely honest, describing her childhood; told him about Matt, how proud of him she was, how well he was doing.
    “It seems to me you’re doing pretty well, too. Your parents must be very proud of you both.”
    “Well, I think they are, quite.”
    “It must be great,” he said suddenly, “to have made your own way.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well—you know. It’s all been easy for me. I just did what my father told me when he was alive, and now I just go on doing what he told me, more or less, even though he’s dead.”
    “I’m sure it’s not that easy. And it’s obviously a very large and successful company, real estate, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, that’s right. How clever of you to know.”
    Brian had checked this out for her, intrigued by her friendship with Mrs. Berenson.
    “Well, it may be a large company, but I inherited the success along with everything else. I doubt if I would have made it on my own.”
    “I’m sure you would,” said Scarlett.
    “Now, why do you say that? You don’t know anything about me.”
    “Well, no, but I can see you’re very clever—”
    “How can you see that?”
    He had her there; it had been a ridiculous remark.
    “All you can see is someone rather spoilt, someone clearly with a bit of money, running a company that frankly would run itself for quite a long time, given a following wind.”
    “Well … it’s obviously silly to argue with you,” said Scarlett.
    “Very silly. Are you sure about that brandy?”
    “OK—maybe just a small one.”
    It was all so predictable after that, really, predictable and corny—the fact that he felt, if not a failure in his business career, very far from a success; and only a partial success as a person; and certainly a failure in his marriage.
    “We rub along OK, and we love the children and put on a good show for them, but Gaby leads her own life, and I think she cares more about her charities than she does for me. We’re just biding our time for a while, until the kids are grown, and then we’ll go our separate ways. It’s very sad, but I guess that’s the way of the world these days.”
    And why did she believe that, Scarlett wondered, half-amused and half-shocked at herself, and how many times had she heard it before? Because she wanted to believe it, she supposed.
    Time disappeared into some odd, confusing place; one moment it was half past ten, the next almost midnight. At one stage he put his arm along the top of the sofa, and then it drifted down to rest on her shoulders. “Is that OK?” he said, and the acknowledgement of it, that there was a need to ask, her laughing affirmation that of course, yes, it was perfectly OK, took them further into an intimacy that was yet perfectly