this unexpected rush of profound emotion, Maxim stood up and walked across the cream-coloured stretch of carpet. He stood gazing out through the metal-mesh curtain that covered the plate-glass window of his office high up in the Seagram building, focused his attention on Park Avenue far below, but he hardly saw anything, so puzzled was he. The troubled mood that had beset him in London in the early hours of the morning seemed somehow to persist, and now, to cap it, he found himself dwelling on his past. Tearing his mind away from Ursula, Maxim brought his concentration to bear on the present. He had come to New York for the weekend hoping to see his daughter. But Alix was not available until Monday, perhaps even Tuesday. Today was Friday. The whole weekend stretched ahead.
What to do? More precisely, where to go?
He had a variety of choices. None appealed. There was his beautiful apartment on Fifth Avenue. If he went there he would undoubtedly be confronted by Adriana, whose sole purpose in life these days was to fight with him. He could go to the house he owned in Sutton Place, where he had installed Blair. If he did he would be exposing himself to a weekend of Blair’s nagging and veiled threats, except that they were not particularly veiled any more. There was his bucolic farm in Connecticut, but Adriana might conceivably get wind of his arrival in New Preston and come rushing out – to fight with him in the country instead of the city. She was certainly combative enough at the moment.
What he really wanted was to be alone.
Entirely alone.
There was only one place for that, and it was the perfect place. His beach house in East Hampton. Closed for the winter though it was, the house was more or less kept ready for his sudden arrival at any moment. It was a year-round house, proofed for the cold weather, and in the winter months the heat was kept on a low temperature at all times. Elias Mulvaney, his gardener and handyman, watched over the house, checked on it every day or so. And Mrs Mulvaney went in to dust once a week. All he had to do was telephone Elias and instruct him to go over to the house later that afternoon to turn up the heat, and arrange for Mrs Mulvaney to come in on Saturday and do a few chores. It couldn’t be simpler.
Maxim swung away from the window, strode back to his desk, well pleased with the idea of driving out to East Hampton for a couple of days. He would be able to indulge himself in that rare commodity – solitude. And do nothing except listen to music, take long walks on the beach. Mostly, though, he would do some very serious thinking, endeavour to bring a semblance of order to the chaos in his head.
He had an unconventional private life. It had long needed to be put in order. Yet he had not been able to commit himself to any action. Perhaps the time had come to do this, to normalise things. Also, he must make some decisions about Adriana and Blair. Only then would he be able to take himself in hand, get to the root of the personal crisis that threatened to engulf him, and in so doing solve his own inner conflicts.
The decision to go to the Hamptons for the weekend galvanised him, brought him out of the introspection that had held him in its grip since the previous night.
He opened his address book, picked up his private phone and dialled Elias Mulvaney’s number on Long Island. It rang and rang. No one answered. Maxim glanced at the clock on the desk. It was just turned eleven. No doubt Elias was making his daily rounds, checking on other homes, doing odd jobs for the permanent residents in the village who also employed him on a part-time basis. And Mrs Mulvaney was more than likely out marketing for the weekend groceries.
No problem, Maxim murmured to himself. I’ll reach one of them sooner or later. He pressed the intercom. ‘Douglas, would you come in, please.’
‘Right away.’
Within a couple of seconds, Douglas Andrews, Maxim’s private secretary at the New York office, hurried in carrying a sheaf of papers. A New Yorker born and bred, Douglas was about thirty-three, short, fresh-faced, dark-haired, with a pleasant, outgoing disposition and a willingness to work around the clock for Maxim. He had been his private secretary for five years and was devoted, loyal and fiercely protective.
‘Here are the legal documents on the Mystell deal which you asked me for. Peter Heilbron’s secretary just dropped this memo off for you. It’s regarding the Blane-Gregson takeover,’ Douglas said. As he reached the desk, he placed the papers in an empty chromium tray on the right-hand corner, then seated himself in the chair facing Maxim, his notebook in his hand, his pencil poised.
‘Thank you,’ Maxim said, glancing at the pile in the tray. ‘I’ll attend to those shortly. There’s a couple of things I’d like you to do, Dougie. Rent a car for me, please, and have it outside at four o’clock, and send one of the secretaries over to Bloomingdale’s food department to buy some provisions for me. A cold chicken, potato salad, a piece of Brie, some French bread and a carton of milk. That should do it. Okay?’
‘Yes, I’ll get on it right away.’ Try though he did, Douglas could not quite keep the surprise out of his voice, and he gave Maxim a curious stare. ‘Are you going somewhere?’
An imperceptible smile flicked onto Maxim’s face. ‘Obviously, Dougie. To my beach cottage in East Hampton, to be precise. For the weekend. Alone. I want a bit of peace, some quiet time to think. And I don’t want anyone to know where I am. Understand?’
Douglas nodded. ‘I do. Absolutely. I’ll deal with the car and send Alice over to the store, but are you sure that’s enough food for you? Maybe she should buy more.’
‘No, no, the chicken and the salad will do me fine for tonight. I can easily pick up some groceries in East Hampton village on Saturday morning.’
‘You’re pretty brave, leaving at four o’clock,’ Douglas volunteered, frowning. ‘You’ll have all that commuter traffic on the Long Island Expressway to contend with. It might be a better idea to drive out to the Hamptons later, say around six or so.’
‘Oh it’s not all that bad in winter, Dougie.’
‘I guess not. Still …’ Douglas’s voice trailed off. He could see that Maxim was already thinking about something else, and so he got up, headed for the door.
Maxim reached for the documents in the chromium tray, and called across to Douglas, ‘Please ask Peter if he can have a quick lunch with me. And if he is available, you might let the Four Seasons know that I’d like my usual table today, if that’s possible. Around one.’
‘Yes, Sir Maxim,’ Douglas murmured, opening the door, closing it quietly behind him, wondering if Maxim really was going to spend the weekend alone. Or did he have an assignation with some new lady love? Lucky devil, Douglas thought, he’s got it all. And then some. What I wouldn’t give to be in his shoes.
But would I really? Douglas asked himself as he sat down at his desk a moment later. Would I want that bitch Adriana for a wife? And as for the girlfriend over on Sutton Place, she’s not much better. More than once he had seen a look in Blair Martin’s baby blues that had immediately alerted him to her scheming ways. Graeme Longdon called her Miss Greedy Guts behind her back. Spot on, Graeme was.
How did such a lovely guy, such a prince of a guy, like Maxim West get hooked up with those two barracudas? Douglas sat shaking his head in bafflement. He came to the conclusion, as he had so often in the past, that men who were brilliant in business were not necessarily very smart when it came to the women in their lives. Fools rush in, he thought.
Still shaking his head, Douglas lifted the phone, dialled Peter Heilbron, head of West International’s acquisition team.
The phone was answered
