Free Good Sister, The by Diana Diamond Page B

payment and took out a chattel mortgage. That’s part of the debt I mentioned. For the time being, the bank owns your Ferrari.”
    Jennifer glared at him. “You bastard,” she whispered. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving Peter and Catherine staring at each other.
    “Well, that was a hell of a wedding gift,” Catherine finally said.
    Peter nodded. “I handled it poorly. I just assumed she would have realized that a prenup was necessary.”
    “‘Poorly’ is an understatement. But you’re right, of course. I have no interest in having Padraig O’Connell as a partner.”
    “Will you tell her that?”
    “Of course,” Catherine answered.
    “And maybe you could also apologize for me,” Peter said.

    “No! That’s something you ought to do for yourself.” She got up to leave but then turned back to the table. “Do you think he’ll sign?”
    Peter gathered his papers. “If he loves her, he will.”
    “Do you think he does?”
    “We’ll certainly find out.”
    That night Catherine phoned her sister but was intercepted by the answering machine. “Pick up, Jennifer,” she said. “I’m on your side.” But the machine beeped and waited to record her message. She tried two more calls, then grabbed her purse, checked for cash, and phoned her doorman to get a cab. Minutes later, she was standing in front of a Tribeca building where her sister owned the top floor loft.
    She went up in the freight elevator that had been retained for its earthy chic, and fitted the key that Jennifer had given her into the lock.
    “Jennifer,” she called into the vast, high-ceilinged space. There was no answer. She called again, got no response, and closed the door behind her. It took only a few seconds to discover that her sister wasn’t home, and then a few more to realize that Jennifer had taken a few essentials from her closet and her medicine cabinet before leaving. Scattered luggage confirmed her worst fears. Jennifer had left on an unannounced trip. Catherine guessed she had gone to California to be with Padraig.
    She turned on the answering machine. One message was from O’Connell, with a witty remark about how much he missed her assets. Then there were two hang-ups, probably her own calls that had gone unanswered. She was about to leave when she noticed a photograph in a cheap paper frame open on Jennifer’s desk. It showed her sister in a simple summer dress, holding a single flower in her hand. Padraig was next to her, a dark blazer over an open collar, with a floppy white flower in his lapel. Behind them, barely in focus, was a clergyman in a white surplice. She stared and was able to make out the stone facade of a church of Ireland in the background. She dropped the photo as if it had
a lighted fuse, realizing what it was telling her. Jennifer and Padraig had gotten married in Ireland.
    “We can still get an agreement,” Catherine told Peter the next day. “Can’t they agree on the ownership of their property? A memo of understanding on who gets what if they should ever decide to end the marriage.”
    “We can try,” Peter answered. “But I wouldn’t bet on his signing. Why should he?”
    “Your worst fears,” Catherine said idly.
    “No,” Peter said after a pause. “My worst fear was that they’d get married in a common-property state. In Ireland there’s no hard division. If they divorce, a court would get to decide who keeps what. But that could be a legal nightmare. I’d love to have it all down in writing.”
    “So, it could be worse,” Catherine mused.
    “If Jennifer dies,” Peter said. “Then, unless she has a will to the contrary, Padraig would own as much of the company as you do.”

SIX
    JENNIFER WAS buoyant when she returned to the office from her visit to Hollywood. The secret of her marriage had leaked under the doors of the boardroom and then out into the corridors. Now everyone at Pegasus knew, and she gathered good wishes and high fives at every desk.