“You’ve got to get Alex to make a new will without Kate knowing about it.”
“How the hell do I do that?”
“I’m going to tell you, darling…”
The following evening George met Alexandra for dinner at Le Plaisir, one of New York’s finest French restaurants. He was almost thirty minutes late.
Pierre Jourdan, the owner, escorted him to the table where Alexandra was waiting. “Forgive me, angel,” George said breathlessly. “I was at my attorneys’, and you know how they are. They make everything so complicated.”
Alexandra asked, “Is anything wrong, George?”
“No. I just changed my will.” He took her hands in his. “If anything should happen to me now, everything I have will belong to you.”
“Darling, I don’t want—”
“Oh, it’s not much compared to the Blackwell fortune, but it would keep you very comfortably.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you. Not ever.”
“Of course not, Alex. But sometimes life plays funny tricks. These things aren’t pleasant to face, but it’s better to plan ahead and be prepared, don’t you think?”
She sat there thoughtfully for a moment. “I should change my will, too, shouldn’t I?”
“What for?” He sounded surprised.
“You’re my husband. Everything I have is yours.”
He withdrew his hand. “Alex, I don’t give a damn about your money.”
“I know that, George, but you’re right. It is better to look ahead and be prepared.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I know I’m an idiot, but I’m so happy that I can’t bear to think of anything happening to either of us. I want us to go on forever.”
“We will,” George murmured.
“I’ll talk to Brad Rogers tomorrow about changing my will.”
He shrugged. “If that’s what you wish, darling.” Then, as an afterthought, “Come to think of it, it might be better if my lawyer made the change. He’s familiar with my estate. He can coordinate everything.”
“Whatever you like. Gran thinks—”
He caressed her cheek. “Let’s keep your grandmother out of this. I adore her, but don’t you think we should keep our personal affairs personal?”
“You’re right, darling. I won’t say anything to Gran. Could you make an appointment for me to see your attorney tomorrow?”
“Remind me to call him. Now, I’m starved. Why don’t we start with the crab…?”
One week later George met Eve at her apartment.
“Did Alex sign the new will?” Eve asked.
“This morning. She inherits her share of the company next week on her birthday.”
The following week, 49 percent of the shares of Kruger-Brent, Ltd., were transferred to Alexandra. George called to tell Eve the news. She said, “Wonderful! Come over tonight. We’ll celebrate.”
“I can’t. Kate’s giving a birthday party for Alex.”
There was a silence. “What are they serving?”
“How the hell do I know?”
“Find out.” The line went dead.
Forty-five minutes later George called Eve back. “I don’t know why you’re so interested in the menu,” he said nastily, “since you aren’t invited to the party, but it’s Coquille Saint-Jacques, Chateaubriand, a bibb lettuce salad, Brie, cappuccino and a birthday cake with Alex’s favorite ice cream, Neapolitan. Satisfied?”
“Yes, George. I’ll see you tonight.”
“No, Eve. There’s no way I can walk out in the middle of Alex’s—”
“You’ll think of something.”
God damn the bitch! George hung up the phone and looked at his watch. God damn everything! He had an appointment with an important client he had stood up twice already. Now he was late. He knew the partners were keeping him on only because he had married into the Blackwell family. He could not afford to do anything to jeopardize his position. He had created an image for Alexandra and Kate, and it was imperative that nothing destroy that. Soon he would not need any of them.
He had sent his father a wedding invitation, and the old man had not even bothered to reply. Not one word of congratulations. I never want to see you again, his father had told him. You’re dead, you understand? Dead Well, his father was in for a surprise. The prodigal son was going to come to life again.