that we sang school songs together,” was the way Cal put it.
She had to give Lou credit. He responded to her moods. He immediately sensed that she did not want to talk and quickly tuned the radio to her favorite classical music station, keeping the volume low. That was her standard request, unless for some reason she wanted to listen to the all-news station.
Lou was Cal ’s age, forty-six, and even though he was in good physical shape, Jenna had always felt there was something unhealthy about him. He was a little too subservient for her taste, a little too anxious to please. She didn’t trust him. Even now, during the short ride to the station, she had the feeling that his eyes were studying her in the rearview mirror, gauging her mood.
I did my best, she told herself, thinking about her discussion with her husband. There’s no way Cal will help Molly locate Annamarie Scalli. Instead of feeling anger, however, she realized that underneath her resentment at his tone, her usual grudging admiration for him was setting in.
Cal was a powerful man, and he had the charisma that went with it. He had built himself up from that first computer company, which he referred to as a mom-and-pop-candy-store operation, to a man whose name commanded respect. Unlike the showy entrepreneurs who grabbed headlines as they made and lost fortunes, Cal preferred to remain essentially in the background, though known and respected as a major figure of the financial world, and feared by anyone who got in his way.
Power-it was what had attracted Jenna to him in the first place. It also was what continued to enthrall her. She enjoyed her job as a partner in a prestigious law firm. It was something she had achieved on her own. If Cal had never come along, she still would have had a successful career, and that knowledge gave her a feeling of having her private territory. “Jenna’s little acre,” Cal called it, but she knew he respected her for it.
At the same time, however, she loved being Mrs. Calvin Whitehall, with all the prestige that continued to accumulate around that name. Unlike Molly, she had never yearned for children or the elitist suburban life her mother and Molly’s mother had always enjoyed.
They were approaching the station. The train was sounding its horn. “Just in time,” Lou said pleasantly as he stopped, jumped out, and opened her door. “Shall I pick you up this evening, Ms. Whitehall?”
Jenna hesitated, then said, “Yes, I’ll be in at the regular time. You can tell my husband to expect me.”
21
“Good morning, Doctor.”
Peter Black looked up from his desk. The uncertainty on his secretary’s face warned him that whatever she was about to say would not be welcome. As a person, Louise Unger was timid, but as a secretary she was extremely efficient. Her timidity annoyed him; her efficiency, he valued. His eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. It was only 8:30. She had arrived at work early, as she often did.
He murmured a greeting and waited.
“Mr. Whitehall was on the phone, Doctor. He had to take another call but asks you to be available.” Louise Unger hesitated. “I think he’s very upset.”
Peter Black had long ago learned to control his facial muscles so that his emotions were not reflected in his expression. With a faint smile, he said, “Thanks for the warning, Louise. Mr. Whitehall is often upset. We know that, don’t we?”
The woman nodded eagerly, her birdlike eyes shining as she bobbed her head. “Just wanted to give you advance warning, Doctor.”
For her, this was a bold statement. Peter Black chose to ignore it. “Thank you, Louise,” he said smoothly.
The phone on his desk rang. He nodded, indicating that she should pick up the receiver.
She began to say, “Dr. Black’s office,” but got no further than “Doctor-” “It’s Mr. Whitehall, Doctor,” she said, putting the phone on hold. She knew enough to scurry out and close the door.
Peter Black knew that to show
She had to give Lou credit. He responded to her moods. He immediately sensed that she did not want to talk and quickly tuned the radio to her favorite classical music station, keeping the volume low. That was her standard request, unless for some reason she wanted to listen to the all-news station.
Lou was Cal ’s age, forty-six, and even though he was in good physical shape, Jenna had always felt there was something unhealthy about him. He was a little too subservient for her taste, a little too anxious to please. She didn’t trust him. Even now, during the short ride to the station, she had the feeling that his eyes were studying her in the rearview mirror, gauging her mood.
I did my best, she told herself, thinking about her discussion with her husband. There’s no way Cal will help Molly locate Annamarie Scalli. Instead of feeling anger, however, she realized that underneath her resentment at his tone, her usual grudging admiration for him was setting in.
Cal was a powerful man, and he had the charisma that went with it. He had built himself up from that first computer company, which he referred to as a mom-and-pop-candy-store operation, to a man whose name commanded respect. Unlike the showy entrepreneurs who grabbed headlines as they made and lost fortunes, Cal preferred to remain essentially in the background, though known and respected as a major figure of the financial world, and feared by anyone who got in his way.
Power-it was what had attracted Jenna to him in the first place. It also was what continued to enthrall her. She enjoyed her job as a partner in a prestigious law firm. It was something she had achieved on her own. If Cal had never come along, she still would have had a successful career, and that knowledge gave her a feeling of having her private territory. “Jenna’s little acre,” Cal called it, but she knew he respected her for it.
At the same time, however, she loved being Mrs. Calvin Whitehall, with all the prestige that continued to accumulate around that name. Unlike Molly, she had never yearned for children or the elitist suburban life her mother and Molly’s mother had always enjoyed.
They were approaching the station. The train was sounding its horn. “Just in time,” Lou said pleasantly as he stopped, jumped out, and opened her door. “Shall I pick you up this evening, Ms. Whitehall?”
Jenna hesitated, then said, “Yes, I’ll be in at the regular time. You can tell my husband to expect me.”
21
“Good morning, Doctor.”
Peter Black looked up from his desk. The uncertainty on his secretary’s face warned him that whatever she was about to say would not be welcome. As a person, Louise Unger was timid, but as a secretary she was extremely efficient. Her timidity annoyed him; her efficiency, he valued. His eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. It was only 8:30. She had arrived at work early, as she often did.
He murmured a greeting and waited.
“Mr. Whitehall was on the phone, Doctor. He had to take another call but asks you to be available.” Louise Unger hesitated. “I think he’s very upset.”
Peter Black had long ago learned to control his facial muscles so that his emotions were not reflected in his expression. With a faint smile, he said, “Thanks for the warning, Louise. Mr. Whitehall is often upset. We know that, don’t we?”
The woman nodded eagerly, her birdlike eyes shining as she bobbed her head. “Just wanted to give you advance warning, Doctor.”
For her, this was a bold statement. Peter Black chose to ignore it. “Thank you, Louise,” he said smoothly.
The phone on his desk rang. He nodded, indicating that she should pick up the receiver.
She began to say, “Dr. Black’s office,” but got no further than “Doctor-” “It’s Mr. Whitehall, Doctor,” she said, putting the phone on hold. She knew enough to scurry out and close the door.
Peter Black knew that to show
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