The Independent Bride. Sophie Weston
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Pepper said, ‘What did my grandmother promise you to get me here?’
He looked genuinely shocked. ‘Nothing. She just wanted me to stop you making a big mistake.’
‘It’s a mistake to back my own idea? I thought that was why we went to business school.’
‘Look, Pepper,’ he said patiently, ‘Out of the Attic is a retail start-up. That’s five years of your life, minimum. Mary Ellen doesn’t want to wait five years to get you back on board at Calhoun Carter.’
‘Since when do you call her Mary Ellen? You been talking to her a lot recently, Ed?’
He winced. ‘Not really. We—er—bumped into each other at a charity reception a couple of weeks ago…’
‘My grandmother doesn’t go to charity receptions for fun,’ said Pepper dispassionately. ‘And she never bumps into anyone.’
He looked at her, half-defiant, half-ashamed. Pepper squared her shoulders.
‘Oh, well, it had to happen some time, I guess. Wait here,’ she told Ed quietly. ‘This is not going to be pretty.’
The moment she came face to face with her grandmother Pepper knew what was going to happen. One look and she just knew.
It was there, in Mary Ellen’s black currant eyes. Mary Ellen wanted the last of the Calhouns back on the board. Like now.
Not that you could tell that from her behaviour. Mary Ellen came forward, hands out, smiling, just as she always did. Glutinously innocent. Pepper had learned to distrust that innocence the way she would distrust a basking snake.
Of course, Mary Ellen was not your average grandmother. She had been President of Calhoun Carter since her husband had died thirty-three years ago. That sort of thing gave you an edge. Pepper might distrust her, but she respected her, too. And she was realising that she was fighting for her life.
She did not take the hands held out to her. She said quietly, ‘Hello, Grandmother.’
Mary Ellen looked startled. It was a voice she did not recognise.
Not surprising, thought Pepper. She didn’t recognise it herself.
‘It’s good to see you, honey,’ Mary Ellen said in her soft, deceptive, ladylike tones.
‘No, it isn’t. It’s business,’ said Pepper grimly. ‘Spare me the fancy stuff. Get on with it.’
The two women’s eyes locked.
Then Mary Ellen gave the tinkling laugh she had perfected in the days when she was a popular debutante; before she’d married her way out of impoverished gentility; before she’d hijacked her husband’s company and became a ruthless tycoon.
‘Then you’d better come in out of the rain,’ she said with a charming pout.
‘And Ed?’ Pepper was mocking. ‘Do you want him in out of the rain as well?’
Mary Ellen frowned. ‘He’s a man. A little rain won’t kill him.’
‘Thought you wouldn’t want any witnesses.’ Pepper nodded.
Mary Ellen did not deign to answer that. She stalked inside like an empress. And the moment the door closed behind her granddaughter she abandoned innocence, ladylike charm and the pout all in one go. Suddenly she looked what she was, thought Pepper. Seventy-three years old and mean as a snake.
Pepper drew a deep breath. ‘Okay. Fire away. I can see that you’ve heard about Out of the Attic. What do you think can do to stop me?’
Mary Ellen smiled. ‘I’ve already done it.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Really, you are such a child. I told the finance department to put it around that anyone who lent money to you could kiss goodbye to Carter Calhoun business. For ever.’
Pepper went very still. ‘I see. I suppose they were doing that this morning? That’s why you had Ed get me out of town? So I wouldn’t be there if anyone wanted to call me to check?’
Mary Ellen shrugged. ‘What’s to check?’
But Pepper knew she was right. Mary Ellen had made sure Pepper was out of the way when the news broke in case she found a way to fight back.
‘You always did fight dirty,’ Pepper said. ‘Why didn’t I remember that?’
Mary Ellen was impatient. ‘I want you back in the firm. You know that. This little idea of yours is just a waste of time.’ She opened her electronic organiser. ‘Shall we say—middle of next week? That will give you time to move out of that nasty apartment and get yourself home, where you belong. I’ll tell Jim to organise you an office.’
‘No,’ said Pepper quietly.
Mary Ellen extracted the stylus and tapped in a deliberate note. ‘Seven forty-five on Wednesday,’ she said, as if Pepper hadn’t spoken. ‘Go to the plant and ask for Connie. She’s the Human Resources Manager now. She’ll find—’
Pepper raised her voice. ‘I said no.’
The inside of the cabin was very dusty, but Mary Ellen had cleaned up a corner for herself. Typically it was the best chair in the room. And it was set at the desk. She sat down now and steepled her fingertips.
‘You don’t have a choice,’ she said calmly. ‘Your little business is a busted flush. Who else but me would employ you?’
Pepper stared. Her thoughts whirled like a rising storm.
I thought she loved me. She doesn’t. She just loves making everyone dance to her tune. How on earth did I miss that?
It hurt. It really hurt.
‘Let me spell it out for you,’ said Mary Ellen. She sounded almost motherly.
That truly sickened Pepper. For a moment she could not speak.
Mary Ellen misunderstood her silence. Mary Ellen thought she had won. But then Mary Ellen always did win.
‘Look at it this way. You’re the last Calhoun. Anyone in the retail business is going to think you’re a spy. A business in any other sector will just think you have to be a liability or you’d be in the family firm where you belong. It’s a nobrainer.’
Pepper was shaking. ‘A no-brainer,’ she agreed with heavy irony.
Mary Ellen gave her famously charming, naughty child smile. ‘Sure,’ she agreed. ‘Glad you see it so clearly. Your little idea is dead. You won’t get funding from anyone in North America.’ She tapped the organiser. ‘See you Wednesday.’
Pepper drew a deep breath. Get a grip, she told herself feverishly, get a grip. Lose your temper and she’s won. She already thinks she’s won. This is your last chance…
And she said quietly, ‘No.’
She was right. Mary Ellen had been quite sure that she had won. She did not believe that Pepper would hold out. Startled, furious, disbelieving, she went on the attack. Mary Ellen Calhoun on the attack did not take prisoners.
Pepper just stood there, under an assault of words like hailstones. In the end they all came back to the same point. Pepper was Calhoun Carter Industries’ property, bought and paid for over years. The very best education money could buy had seen to that. Along with the house in the South of France, the condo in New York, the South Sea Island mountain retreat, her suite in the Calhoun mansion…
Pepper hung on to cool reason but it was an effort. ‘But they aren’t mine.’
Mary Ellen showed her teeth in a shark’s smile. ‘Got it at last!’
Oh, Pepper got it. Slowly. Reluctantly. With disbelief. But she got it.
‘You mean that all the stuff you’ve given me over the years—’