Dangerous to Know. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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you have any respect for him? Any respect for the dead?”
He gave me an odd look but made no comment.
I said, “If you have no feelings for him, so be it. But just remember this, I do. I will not permit you to speak of him in such a heartless, cold-blooded way.”
Ignoring my remarks, Jack said, “We can have the funeral later this week.”
“In Cornwall,” I murmured, trying to adopt a softer tone. “He once told me he wanted to be buried in Cornwall.”
“What about a memorial service, Viv? Should we have one? If so, where? More importantly, when?” He grimaced. “As soon as possible. I have to get back to France.”
Though he was infuriating me again, I held myself still. Exercising great control, I responded calmly, “In New York. I think that would be the best place, certainly the most appropriate.”
“Where?”
“At the Church of St. John the Divine,” I suggested. “What do you think?”
“Whatever you say.” Jack flopped down in the chair near the fireplace and regarded me for the longest moment, a speculative look entering his eyes.
“Oh, no,” I said, catching on at once. “Oh no, no, Jack! You’re not going to talk me into arranging the funeral and the memorial. That’s for you to do. You and Luciana.”
“You’ll help, though. Won’t you?”
I nodded. “But you’re not going to shrug off your responsibilities, as you have so many times in the past,” I warned. “I won’t allow you to do that. You are the head of the Locke family, now that Sebastian’s dead, and the sooner you understand this the better. There’s the Locke Foundation to run, for one thing, and you’ll have to pick up the torch he dropped when he died.”
“What do you mean?” he asked quickly, sharply, his eyes instantly riveted on mine. “What torch?”
“The charity work, Jack. You’ll have to carry on where he left off. You’ll have to tend to the sick and the poor of the world, those who are suffering, just as he did. Thousands are depending on you.”
“Oh, no! No way, sugar. If you think I’m going to hand out money like a drunken sailor, then you’re crazy. As crazy and as foolish as he was.”
“This family’s got so much money it doesn’t know what to do with it!” I cried, furious with him.
“I’m not going to follow in Sebastian’s footsteps, trailing halfway round the world and back, dispensing largesse to the great unwashed. So forget it, Viv, and don’t bring it up again.”
“You’ll have to run the Locke Foundation,” I reminded him. “As the only son and heir that’s not only your inheritance but your responsibility.”
“Okay, okay, so I’ll run it. Long distance. From France. But I ain’t no savior, out to cure the world of its ills. And illnesses. Just remember that. My father was a madman.”
“Sebastian did a great deal of good, and don’t you ever forget that.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “It’s odd. It really is.”
“What is?”
“The way you adore him still after all these years. And after all the things he did to you.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that. He treated me very well. Always.”
“Better than the other wives I’ve got to admit. He liked you.”
“Liked me! He loved me. Sebastian loved me from the very first day we met, when I was twelve—”
“Dirty old man.”
“Shut up! Furthermore, he continued to love me after we split up.”
“He never loved anyone,” Jack announced swiftly, scathingly, giving me a pitying look. “Not me. Not my mother. Not Luciana. Not her mother. Not your mother. Not his other two wives. Not even you, sugar.”
“Stop calling me sugar. It’s disgusting. And he did love me.”
“I told you, he wasn’t capable of loving. He couldn’t love anyone if his life depended on it. It wasn’t in him. Sebastian Locke was a monster.”
“He was not! And I know he loved me, do you understand that? I know he did,” I answered heatedly, swallowing my anger, clinging to my composure.
“If you say so,” he muttered, giving in to me, which he frequently did. Averting his head, he stared into the fire, a morose look settling on his face.
As I sat watching him, thinking how sad it was he was so wrong about his father, thinking how little Jack had known about him, it occurred to me that he bore a strong resemblance to Sebastian tonight. Their profiles were the same; Jack had inherited his father’s strong jawline and aquiline nose, as well as his fine head of dark hair. But his eyes were a faded, watery blue, not the bright cornflower hue his father’s had been. As for their characters and personalities, they were as dissimilar as any two men could be.
The moroseness stayed with Jack throughout supper. He ate sparingly, drank a lot, and said little.
At one moment I reached out and touched his hand, and remarked softly, in my most conciliatory voice, “I’m sorry I shrieked at you.”
He did not answer.
“Honestly, I am. Don’t be like this, Jack.”
“Like what?”
“Mute. Unresponsive. And infuriatingly mule headed.”
He stared at me, then he smiled.
When Jack smiled his face lit up, and he was engaging, almost irresistible to me. That was the way it had always been. I smiled back, my affection for him once more intact. “It’s just that I can’t bear it when you’re nasty about Sebastian.”
“We see him differently, you and I,” he mumbled, swigging more of my best red wine, the Mouton Rothschild which Sebastian had sent me last year.
He continued, “You’ve always been…agog about him…so…so adoring and worshipful. Look, I don’t wear the same kind of rose-colored glasses, Viv.”
“You adored him too, when you were little.”
“That’s what you think. But it’s not true.”
“Oh Jack, don’t lie to me. This is Vivienne you’re talking to…good old Viv, your best friend.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Jesus, don’t you ever let up? When it comes to persistence, you’re like a dog with a bone.”
“Only when we’re discussing Sebastian Locke,” I countered.
“Well, one thing is certain, your loyalty is commendable, sugar.”
“Thanks. And stop calling me sugar in that awful tone of voice. You know I hate it. You do it just to get my goat.”
He grinned, reached out and squeezed my hand. “Truce?”
“Truce,” I agreed and as quickly as I had when we were children.
We spoke about other matters for a short while after this. About France, Provence to be exact, and our respective homes there, houses which Sebastian had given us at different times. Although I did not dare remind him of this. It was obvious to me that he was as unrelenting about his father in death as he had been during his lifetime. Jack had never given Sebastian the benefit of the doubt, nor apparently did he intend to do so now. When it was too late, anyway.
It was when we returned to the den to have coffee that Jack suddenly started to talk about the circumstances of Sebastian’s death once