3. Daphne
3
DAPHNE
L uke’s gone with a roar, no doubt leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. He might have been a mirage or a figment of my imagination, but I can still smell that cologne of his, the one I like too much.
I have hot shivers and goosepimples for no logical reason at all.
He’s just a man.
But no matter how I rationalize it, there’s no ‘just’ about Luke. His name should be written in capitals. He should be twenty feet tall. He’s too bold, too imposing—too vital—to even occupy the same universe as we mere mortals, never mind sitting in my office, which has been entirely too small and too warm this morning.
Worse, he still has that superpower, that ability to make me not only aware of him but to feel so intensely that I lose track of everything but him. It’s like he jolts me to life, just by showing up.
And he’s here . Back in Empire, trying to hire me . His very presence is at odds with everything I know to be true. I stare at the chair for clients where he was just sitting. I can still see him clearly there in his jeans and his black leather jacket, his biker boots and his tight T-shirt. (The black suits him. It makes his eyes look more blue.) I saw the end of a tattoo on the back of his wrist and want to know what it is. He didn’t have it before. He was wearing a silver ring on his right thumb with a Celtic knot on it and a silver bracelet on his left wrist.
It’s not crazy that he’s haunted my dreams since I returned to Empire. A harmless fantasy spurred by location, one that I never expected to be tested by an actual meeting. Maybe that was part of its appeal.
But today, he’s not only here, but challenging my expectation that gorgeous guys only care about what they want for themselves.
Could there be an ulterior motive behind his plan? If so, I can’t see it.
Luke is a Cavendish, whether Patrick likes it or not. One look at Luke and his connection to the patriarch is undeniable. Both coloring and confidence. Luke is his father’s son—in appearances, anyway.
In every other way, he’s defied that man since day one.
And given nothing, or close to it, he left town and made millions all on his own.
Which is admirable. Patrick Cavendish likes to manage everything and have it all his way. He has a will of iron and insists all his kids do as they’re told. They’re not kids anymore, and some of them have to hate that affluence comes with such a price.
But Luke, Luke was the only one to do anything about it.
And now, evidently, he wants to challenge Patrick again.
I can’t help thinking about that one forged signature, the one that made all hell break loose in town. It was audacious, the kind of challenge that only a teenage boy would make, although really, other than Patrick’s pride, not much had been hurt.
It certainly gave everyone something to talk about.
I take a deep breath, scan the single page proposal to buy five properties from Cavendish Enterprises again. It’s an interesting idea, in a way. Out of the box. So unexpected that it just might work. I have to like that the other board members are agreeable—if, indeed, they are.
A bit late, I realize I have no way of contacting Luke. No phone number. No idea where he’s staying. No real conviction that he is staying. (He said he was leaving, just not when.) I take a deep breath, telling myself that he’ll be back when he chooses and to just accept that reality.
I really really hope that none of these signatures are forged, but I know better than to believe they’re genuine before I verify them.
I call Jake first.
The oldest of Patrick’s legitimate sons is a finance guy in Toronto, making buckets of money. I always assumed that Jake was interested in having all the goodies himself, that maybe he hadn’t been that pleased to surrender his status of only child at the ripe age of two, so I’m curious about his agreement to Luke’s scheme. I don’t remember them getting along very well.
Jake answers on the first ring, crisp and efficient. Maybe impatient at the interruption. He listens, though, without interrupting me.
“I appreciate your due diligence, Ms. Bradshaw,” he says. “And I certainly understand your reservations, but this is perfectly legitimate. Luke came to see me last week to present his proposal and I agreed.”
“Why?”
He sighs. “I’ve been bugging Dad for years to divest of some of these bits and ends of property. He and Cavendish Enterprises would be better served having that asset in cash, instead of tied up in properties that leech money.”
“Insurance,” I guess.
“Property taxes. Maintenance, such as he does. Legal fees if there are ever any tenants. It’s a lot of trouble and completely unnecessary.”
“I see.”
“And with Cavendish Enterprises rapidly expanding, it would be prudent to have more cash in reserve. Things happen unexpectedly.” I nod and he clears his throat. “I trust that detail will go no further.”
“Of course not. We have experienced some uncertain times of late.”
“Exactly.”
I think he’s going to end the call, but Jake hesitates for a moment. “Anything else?” I prompt.
“I just want to note that I appreciated the idea of Luke wanting to provoke change. I saw no harm in encouraging that.”
“Why not?”
Jake laughs a little. It’s a rueful sound. “Well, it’s an exercise in futility, isn’t it? Dad is never going to agree. Luke’s heart might be in the right place, but it’s not going to matter in the end. Dad will nix it all.”
“Then why did you agree?”
He considers this so long that I think he isn’t going to answer. “Because Luke drew the short straw,” he concedes finally. “It’s not his fault, but he’s paid the price of being an outsider over and over again. I know I’ve been a part of that and I was glad he came to me. I saw an opportunity for change between us, which I welcomed. We had a good talk, which is new, and I’m optimistic that things might be easier between us going forward, no matter what Dad does.”
“And if Patrick does agree?”
There’s a full beat before Jake answers, as if he can’t even wrap his mind around that possibility. “Then Luke will finally get something he wants. Whether that’s a good or bad thing remains to be seen.” I hear another phone ring. “Is that everything? I’ve got to go.”
I add Jake’s admission that Luke was always an outsider to Luke’s comment about Mike being a contributing variable to his choices with regards to Sylvia, and decide that as rich as they were (and are), the lives of the Cavendish clan haven’t been all sunshine and roses.
But then how could they have been, with Patrick as their father? The patriarch sets the tone and when he’s as domineering, demanding and inflexible as Patrick, there’s not going to be a lot of kindness going around.
I think about Luke’s mom then, without expecting to. Such a pretty woman. Louise worked at the hair salon in town and never seemed to catch a break. She never said anything against Patrick either, which maybe means she’s a saint. I wonder where she is now.
Back to business.
Mike is next. Unlike Jake, he’s slow to come to the phone. They page him and I wait, then they page him again. He must be in that enormous greenhouse. It literally has acres under glass, and there are more greenhouses beyond that one, too. The workers ride bicycles to get from one end of the complex to the other.
I have time to wonder whether I should say anything about Sylvia, then decide against it.
Mike sounds even more impatient than Jake and though I can hear someone yelling in the background, I can’t understand the words. It could be Spanish. I hear him drumming his fingers while I explain the reason for my call.
“I signed it.” He gives a wry laugh. “I suggested that he add that piece of land that Rhodes Vineyards wants to his list and when he agreed, I was sold. I’d give anything to get Augustine Rhodes off my back. That man is making me almost as nuts as Dad is over this. It’s a small parcel of land that’s useless to us. Those two just like a fight more than I do. I don’t have time for this crap.” He clears his throat, evidently realizing who he’s talking to. “Everything has been within the law, of course, just a steady drip of annoyances, like water on stone.”
“But the rest of Luke’s proposal?”
“I didn’t even read it. If Luke has a plan that will make Augustine Rhodes go away, I’m all for it.”
So, Mike might not have even noticed Una’s house on the list of properties.
“Of course, Dad’s never going to agree to any of it. I wouldn’t want to be the one who gets to present it to him.” He pauses. “Who’s going to do that? Luke? He won’t even manage three words before Dad turfs him out.”
“Apparently Patrick already declined to hear his proposal, so I’m going to present it on behalf of an anonymous party.” I decide that, right then and there, and not just because Mike is probably right.
“Well, good luck to you, Daphne. Set your phaser on stun, at least.”
I smile despite myself at the warning. “What do you think might convince Patrick to agree?”
“Nothing! I’ve been trying for a year to get him to agree to cut loose that one property. I swear, he thinks he’s going to take it all with him. I’m out of ideas.” His voice sharpens as I hear more Spanish. “Is that all you need from me? Things are a bit crazy today.”
I thank him and end the call, then sit looking at my phone for a long moment. They both signed, partly because they thought Patrick would never agree.
I have no way to reach Austin, given how famous he is, so I text Abbie. Her reply is immediate.
Daphne! Of course, I agreed, but not for the house.
Tho it was sweet of L to think of me.
Why, then?
Who am I to trash his emotional recovery?
???
My phone rings. It’s Abbie.
“Didn’t Luke tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Abbie backpedals. “Something happened.”
“Like what?” I’m pretty sure I can guess but it would be better to know.
“It doesn’t matter. Luke wants to make a difference. He wants to change. That’s the important bit and if I only need to sign one document to help, I’ll do it.”
I think whatever had that big of an effect on Luke Jones’ worldview does matter. “Was it Taylor’s death?” I guess.
She sighs but doesn’t answer. “It’s his story to tell, if he wants to, but he convinced me. I know this plan is crazy and I don’t think it will work out, but I’m hoping I’m wrong.”
“Your dad won’t agree.”
“That’s what we all think. Luke won’t be able to change his mind, but Daphne, could you?”
“I have no idea.”
“I suggested that he come to you. If anyone can do it, it’s you, Daphne. Promise me that you’ll try.”
Of course, I promise, even if Abbie’s view of my skills is unjustified.
I call Austin, using the number Abbie gave me. Apparently, he’s in California, filming yet another episode of So You Think You Can Cook . You’ve probably seen it. All these ambitious chefs pitted against each other, three judges to pick apart their creations—and them, if they’re unlucky. Austin is the miserable one. He’s sarcastic and tough, kind of funny if you like that sort of thing. He does it so well that he must come by it naturally.
Again, the legacy of Patrick casts its shadow. No one learned the power of praise and encouragement in that house.
“What?” Austin demands when he finally comes to the phone.
They were all out of charm when he got to that line, I think but I don’t say it out loud. It sounds like something my mom would say.
I start to explain, but Austin interrupts me.
“You’re calling from Empire ? From the end of the world? You’re interrupting my day with a question about my half-brother’s half-assed scheme to improve our wreck of a hometown and the lives of people I don’t even know? Do you think I have nothing better to do than listen to this kumbaya garbage? Who cares about those properties, other than Luke?”
“Did you sign the agreement?”
“Of course, I did. It doesn’t matter what happens in Empire. Give it all away, my father will have a heart attack from shock, and life will instantly become simpler.” He sighs. “It’s never going to happen, though, Ms. Bradshaw. Luke is ridiculously optimistic. The old bastard doesn’t even get rid of his fingernail clippings.”
There’s an image I don’t need. I thank him and look at my list.
They all knew.
They all willingly agreed.
Luke didn’t lie to me .
I spin in my chair and review the whole thing one last time. On the pro side, I like the idea of the world being a better place. I like the idea of Empire getting another chance. I like all the ideas of Abbie getting her grandmother’s house, of this awesome chef in Toronto owning her own restaurant, of Sylvia spending time with her grandmother while she (hopefully) heals, of Una not having to worry about losing her house, of Mackenzie planting those grapes to make more ice wine and build on success.
I really like that Luke sees the power of change in women. Did he do that on purpose?
I also like the idea of having a great place to go for lunch in town, right across the street.
I like fresh starts.
I like making a difference.
I like a challenge.
And I think I’m going to like being in league with a self-appointed agent of change just fine.
All I have to do is get Patrick’s agreement.
That’s not going to be easy.
In fact, that, and the need to actually present this plan to him, is the only con—but it’s a big enough one that someone fainter of heart than me might take a pass.
Not me.
I only know Patrick Cavendish by sight. (He’d probably say the same about me.) That’s an amazing thing when you consider it. Abbie and I were best friends from kindergarten on. We were in and out of each other’s houses all the time, having sleepovers, going to dance class together, all of it. You’d think I’d know her dad pretty well, but Patrick was never there. At the time, we were told that he was working, but my mom’s lips always got tight when my dad made Patrick’s excuses. Maybe he was working some of the time, but a lot of the time, he was spending energy and money elsewhere. Dianne, wife #1, was concurrent for a while with Luke’s mom but blissfully ignorant of her competitor’s existence. When Dianne died, Patrick married again, but to Candace Knowles, not Luke’s mom.
I’ve resented Patrick on Abbie’s behalf for years. The summer I spent picking tomatoes in the Cavendish greenhouses gave me an appreciation for his…frugality. The company was much smaller then and so were the greenhouses, but they were driven to get the fruit harvested according to schedule. It was hard work and long hours, and the pay wasn’t particularly great. (My father used to like telling me that I was lucky I never had to pick tobacco, as his father compelled him to do one summer. No doubt he also walked barefoot in the snow to school, uphill both ways.) Patrick occasionally appears at my dad’s offices, but usually my dad goes to his client. Minions travel to the king, of course, not the other way around.
And they play golf, every Tuesday, weather permitting.
Today’s weather permits, so I know where to find them both. I check the time and guess that they’ll be finishing up the front nine by the time I get there.
The Empire Golf Course is fancier than you might expect. Patrick is on the board, naturally, and one of the endowing partners. The membership is tightly controlled and consists primarily of professional men, mostly from Havelock and beyond. The course was designed by a PGA champion and is scrupulously maintained. The restaurant is predictably mediocre. I have to like that even Patrick hasn’t been able to change that.
I check in at the front desk, my dad is located, and I head out the back of the clubhouse to the tenth tee, glad that I changed to my flats.
They’re waiting together and laughing, my handsome father and his client. Or the king of Empire and his crown vizier, who knows it’s smarter to laugh at the regent’s jokes. Neither of them look their age: both are trim and tall, perhaps not as slender as they once must have been. You’d probably guess my dad was the older of them.
In fact, Patrick has a few years on my dad, but his hair is still mostly dark and he has a restless energy that I realize reminds me of Luke. He watches me all the way across the lawn, eyes narrowed against the sun, his scrutiny as sure as the weight of a hand on my shoulder. Pushing me down, of course. Some would call him handsome, but he reminds me too much of a hawk for me to think he’s attractive. All the right features are there, the chiseled profile and the firm lips, but he looks like as ruthless he is.
I wonder for the first time whether my amiable gentleman of a father loses deliberately to Patrick when they play each week, just to keep the business. I wouldn’t put it past him. As I’ve been told multiple times, there’s precious little opportunity in Empire for legal work and my dad does love his Benz.
“This is a surprise, Daphne,” my father says, his tone cheerful. I hear a wariness in it all the same, and know that he’s suspicious of my appearance.
“I didn’t want to interrupt your game, but there’s something I think you should see, Mr. Cavendish.”
My dad lifts a brow, a question in his gaze. I ignore it. Heart in throat, I give the document to his companion.
Patrick hands off his club to my dad, as if my dad is his caddy, and takes the proposal from me. He reads it, all of it, his dour expression speaking volumes. He shakes his head when he’s done and hands it to my dad, whose eyes widen as he reads. Then he shakes his head and gives the document back to Patrick.
“What do you think, Richard?” Patrick asks, his gaze fixed upon me. “What’s your little girl trying to stir up here?”
I bristle at the diminutive. My dad shoots me a warning glance. “It looks to me as if Daphne has been retained to act on behalf of an anonymous client to present an offer to purchase,” he says mildly. “She is fulfilling her obligation to her client by presenting this proposal to you, as requested.”
Relief floods through me that my dad is defending me and I’m ashamed that I wasn’t sure he would.
Patrick snorts. “Anonymous, my ass.”
My father glances at me.
“Is your client Luke Jones or not?”
“Client privilege…” I begin but Patrick scoffs.
“Bull. This is Luke’s doing, and I know it.” He shoves the proposal toward my father, not waiting for my reply. “What do you really think of it?”
My dad flicks through the agreement. “I don’t think these properties are key to your business, or that their ownership is particularly material. You could be agreeable, at very little cost to yourself, and, in fact, add to your capital assets.”
“Agreeable?” Patrick laughs. “I thought you knew me better than that, Richard.”
They laugh together and my dad hands the proposal back to me, as if the matter is closed.
I don’t take it.
“This is an offer to pay market price for five properties in your possession,” I say calmly. “The other members of the board have agreed to the sale.”
“Because they’re fools.”
“The opposite could be argued, if you insist upon holding onto properties for which you have no use, or no future plans.”
My father’s eyes narrow, but I ignore that, too.
Patrick is glaring at me. “How I choose to run my business, Miss Bradshaw, is my business alone.”
“But I’m curious. Why wouldn’t you take the chance to make a difference to the town where you live?”
“I don’t technically live in Empire. My house is in the township, not the town.”
“Yet you’ve reduced the town to a shell of its former self by leaving properties empty and untended. It could be said, Mr. Cavendish, that you’ve taken but you haven’t given back.”
His eyes flash and my dad starts to say something. Patrick gestures him to silence. “Who are you to know what I’ve taken and what I’ve given? This town survives because I’ve given people the support they need.” He gestures to the list. “Una Kincaid needed money and she knew where to come for it.”
“Maybe what Una needed was compassion,” I reply. “Maybe what Una needed was a break.”
“Oh, is that how we do business now?” he sneers. “We give everything away to those who ask for it, until there’s nothing left to give? That’s not how anyone succeeds, Miss Bradshaw. That’s not how legacies are built.”
“And what will your legacy be, Mr. Cavendish? A business that draws heavily on the infrastructure that people in Empire pay for and you utilize?”
“You have a nerve…”
“The very few residents of Empire would have no need to upgrade their water system or install windmills to generate power, not without the draw on both utilities by Cavendish Greenhouses.” His lips tighten but I’m not done. “It’s not unlike this golf course, built for rich people from somewhere else. Do people from Empire even get service jobs locally? We know they don’t get work in your greenhouses.”
His nostrils flare. “People in Empire get what they choose to for themselves. I don’t owe people jobs who don’t get an education. I don’t owe anything to anyone.”
“Yet we all owe whatever you want to you.”
My father inhales sharply but is ignored.
Patrick shakes his head. “Luke’s done it again, hasn’t he? Charmed some woman who could be useful to him. Don’t go thinking there’s any future for you with Luke Jones. He’s been trouble ever since he was born, making waves for their own sake, and if he’s back, that can’t be good news. You should be smart enough, Daphne Bradshaw, to recognize that there’s only one thing he ever wants from a woman, and you’re not going to be any different.”
I’m tempted to say that Luke came honestly by that inclination, but I remember his own claim that he’s been celibate. I bite my tongue hard.
Patrick laughs. “Not what you wanted to hear, is it? He’s got you stirred up and on his side, because he wants to play. Okay. Let’s play.” He grabs the document and turns to the list of properties. “It’s time Luke had a lesson in how the real world works. I’ll make you a bet, Richard, that I’ll have it all back in a year.” He puts out a hand and my dad gives him a pen. “But a couple of changes first.”
I watch, wondering what he’ll do.
“I don’t want to sell Albert Foreman’s building,” he says and puts a line through that item. Funny, that’s what Luke predicted he would do. “Why does he want my mother’s house?”
“He thinks Abbie should have it.”
“Women don’t need real estate,” Patrick says. “They need husbands. And Abbie doesn’t need a house in Empire since she’s chosen to live in Vancouver,” he says, breaking my heart with a stroke of a pen. He taps another item on the list. “Augustine Rhodes will only have that parcel of land over my dead body,” he adds and draws another red line.
I’m tempted to suggest that it could be arranged.
He writes a number on the bottom of the document, where there’s a space for the price.
“That’s too much,” I say. I know the price of real estate in Empire. I just bought a house here.
“When you come with an offer like this, you can expect to pay a premium,” Patrick says. “Luke can afford it, unless he’s forgotten to look out for number one and has wasted all his money away like the loser he was born to be.”
He looks at me and I shake my head, hoping like hell that Luke is good for it. I also hope that Mike won’t withdraw his support with that parcel of land removed from the proposal.
Would it really matter? It’s clear that Patrick makes all the decisions.
He and my father exchange a glance, my father shrugs, Patrick initials his changes and signs the document. “Take it or leave it,” he says. His gaze is as cold as ice and I hate that I have to fulfil his expectation.
I take it, just the way he knows I will. There’s the diner, which gives that chef her chance, and Una’s house, which is for Sylvia. It will make some of Luke’s agenda come right. I remind myself that this really is the heart of his suggestion, to make amends to Sylvia, and that’s been preserved. The prime mover is being addressed. I hate losing any of the plan, though I know that there’s no blood to be had from this stone.
“Thank you, Mr. Cavendish. I apologize for interrupting your game.”
“You’re making a mistake,” he warns. “That boy will lead you astray. You can count on it. He’s never been any good.”
I don’t answer. It seems to me that I’ve been talking to the trouble behind all of this. I walk away, reminding myself to be content with a partial victory.
I’m not.
Not even close.
I thought I was in before, but Patrick has redoubled my commitment. Now I’m determined to make Luke’s plan work.
Whatever it takes.