Stuart Woods - Imperfect Strangers

"The Peter Martindale Gallery will continue to operate in the trustworthy and straightforward manner in which it has always conducted its sales and served its clients."

Martindale nodded. "It's good."

Keyes reversed the document for Martindale's signature. "What I would like to do is to send this document and a cashier's check for eighty-five thousand dollars to Harry Keller before the day is out, with a promise that the statement will run on your letterhead as a quarter-page ad in the Sunday arts section."

Martindale's shoulders sagged. "All right." He stood up and shook his lawyer's hand.

"Good," Keyes said. "Now let's get this thing done and put it behind us."

Martindale was on his way out the door. "Not on your fucking life," he muttered.

Paul Keyes was sure he had misunderstood his client's words.

Sandy had been making calls all morning, and the moment he finished the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Dad?"

"Angus! How are you?"

"I'm terrific, Dad."

"Where are you?"

"We're still in Rome."

"Are you enjoying the city?"

"I'll say we are; I've never been anyplace like it. And I have some news."

"Did you stay at the Hassler?"

"Yes, we were lucky enough to get a suite."

"Isn't the view from the rooftop restaurant marvelous?"

"I'll let you know; we're having dinner up there tonight."

"Maggie will love it."

"Dad, Maggie and I were married this morning."

"What?"

"I said we were married this morning."

"Why that's wonderful, Angus! I'd hoped you wouldn't let that girl get away, but I never thought you'd take my advice so quickly."

"Well, after traveling together for a couple of weeks, we just… well, we wanted to get married. An American lady who owns an English-language bookshop helped us through the formalities and was our witness. Turns out that Italy is the easiest place in Europe for a foreigner to get married."

"Well, I'm absolutely delighted for you, and I have some news of my own."

"What's that, Dad?"

"Cara and I are being married the day after tomorrow. I'm so glad you called, so we could tell you in advance."

"I don't believe it! We'll be celebrating anniversaries together! Where are you doing this?"

"Here at the vineyard. How did you know where I was?"

"Sam Warren gave me the number."

"I'm glad he did. Now look, I don't want you to interrupt your honeymoon to come all this way, do you understand?"

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Absolutely. We're just going to have a few friends up to the house and do it here early in the evening. I don't know many people out here, but some of Cara's friends are coming up from San Francisco. In fact, I've been on the phone all morning, making arrangements and inviting people. What are your plans after Rome?"

"We're going to do some more of Europe, then ship the Porsche back and go on east around the world. We're doing Greece, India, Bali, Australia, New Zealand, then home."

"Wonderful! Maybe we can meet you on the West Coast on your way home and you can see the vineyard."

"Maggie would love that, she really would."

"It's a date, then."

"Dad, I can't tell you how happy I am for you, the way things have worked out. I think Cara is a marvelous person, and I'm looking forward to getting to know her better."

"She feels the same about you, and we both feel the same about Maggie."

"Well, I'd better go; our dinner reservation is for right now. Have a wonderful wedding."

"And you two have a wonderful honeymoon."

Sandy hung up and turned to Cara. "Did you get that?"

"They're married?"

"This morning, in Rome."

"Perfect."

The phone rang again, and Sandy picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Sandy?"

"Yes."

"It's Harry Keller."

"How are you, Harry?"

"I'm very well, and so are you."

"Pardon?"

"This morning I received a cashier's check for eighty-five thousand dollars from Peter Martindale's lawyer, along with a signed admission." He read Martindale's statement aloud. "It's running as an ad in the Sunday arts section."

"The wording lets him off kind of easy, doesn't it?"

"Sandy, let him save a little face. When you win everything you want, don't make your opponent eat dirt; it's not good practice."

"You're right, Harry."

"I know I am. Shall I send this check to Sam Warren in New York?"

"Yes, please, and Harry, Cara and I are being married the day after tomorrow. We'd love it if you and your wife could join us here around six. We'll finish pretty early, so you can be back in town at a decent hour."

"Sounds delightful; we'd love to. Oh, by the way, you should ship the picture back to Peter Martindale's gallery."

"Not until after the wedding; I want everybody to see it."

"That'll be fine. We'll see you at the party."

Sandy hung up and told Cara the news.

"This is a pretty good day all 'round, isn't it?" she said.

"Could hardly be better."

The phone rang again.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Kinsolving? This is Simon Teach, how are you?"

"Very well, thanks."

"I'd just like to confirm a couple of reports I have from various sources. I've heard that Peter Martindale has settled your suit, is that correct?"

"He's settled it on our terms," Sandy said.

"For eighty-five thousand and a public admission of guilt?"

"That's correct."

"Good. The other report I have is that you and Mrs…the lady are getting married."

"That's correct, too." What the hell, Sandy thought; why not have a little coverage? "And you're invited. The day after tomorrow at six, at what used to be the Larsen vineyard."

"May I bring my photographer?"

"If we can have copies of her shots."

"I'll arrange it. See you then."

Sandy hung up.

"Who was that?" Cara asked.

"Simon Teach."

"You invited him?"

"Why not? Do you mind?"

"Well, he's a little oily, but I suppose it will be all right."

"We'll get some photographs for our album, anyway. Sweetheart, everything finally seems to be going the way it's supposed to. Isn't it great?"

"What about Peter?"

"What about him? We've just rubbed his nose in it pretty badly. Maybe he's learned not to mess with us."

Cara looked out the window at the view over the vineyard. "I hope you're right," she said.

Simon Teach was not without gall, a characteristic which he regarded as essential to his chosen profession, so he felt no compunction whatever about telephoning Peter Martindale.

"Peter, it's Simon, how are you?"

"You have a nerve calling me, you little weasel, after what you've written about me."

"Dear Peter, if you'd simply reread what I've written you'd see that it could have been much, much worse. Believe me, I have been very kind to you in the paper the past couple of weeks." There was a silence at the other end of the line that encouraged Simon to continue. "By the way, I thought your copy for the ad was brilliant; struck just the right tone."

"Did you?"

"Oh, yes; I don't think this nonsense is going to hurt your business in the least."

"Well, Simon, I do hope you're right. Now, I'm off to L.A., and I have to make an eleven o'clock flight this morning, so what can I do for you?"

"I don't suppose you're attending the nuptials this evening, are you?"

"Simon, please don't be arch; it's unbecoming."

"Sorry, Peter, it's just that my editor has demanded that I ask you for comment on the marriage of Sandy Kinsolving to your former wife."

"Of course, be glad to comment. Got your pencil ready?"

"I'm ready."

"Please note this exactly as I speak it."

"I won't misquote you, Peter."

"Very well, here's my quote."