Tears Of Pride. Lisa Jackson
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the next week and a half.”
“I can’t wait that long!” Sheila cried, her thin patience snapping.
Her response surprised Noah. “What exactly is the problem? Didn’t you get the letter I sent?”
“That’s precisely why I’m calling. I really do have to see you. It’s important!”
“You’re hoping that I’ll reverse my decision, I suppose?” Noah guessed, wondering at the woman’s tenacity. He thumbed through his phone messages. Maggie was right. Sheila Lindstrom had called every hour on the hour for the past five.
“You’ve got to! If we hope to rebuild the winery and have it ready for this season’s harvest, we’ve got to get started as soon as possible. Even then, we might not make it—”
Noah interrupted. “I understand your problem.” There was a hint of desperation in her voice that bothered him. “But, there’s really nothing I can do. You understand that my father is out of the country and—”
“I don’t care if your father is on the moon!” Sheila cut in. “If you’re in charge of Wilder Investments, you’re the man I have to deal with. Surely you can’t be so much of a puppet that you can’t make a simple business decision until your father returns.”
“You don’t understand,” Noah began hotly in an attempt to explain, and then mentally cursed himself for letting this unknown woman force him into a defensive position. It really was none of her business.
“You’re right, Mr. Wilder. I don’t understand. I’m a businesswoman, and it seems utterly illogical to me that you would let a growing concern such as Cascade Valley sit in disrepair, when it could be productive.”
Noah attempted to keep his voice level, even though he knew that the woman was purposely goading him. “As I understand it, Miss Lindstrom, Cascade Valley has been running at a loss for nearly four years.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if Sheila Lindstrom was studying the weight of his words. Her voice, decidedly less angry, commanded his attention. “I think it’s evident from this discussion that you and I have a lot to talk over,” Sheila suggested. Though she sounded calm, a knot of tension was twisting her stomach. “If it isn’t possible for you to meet with me today, perhaps you could come to the winery this weekend and get a firsthand impression of our mutual problem.”
For a moment the soft, coaxing tone of her voice captivated Noah, and he was tempted to take her up on her offer. He would love to leave the problems at Wilder Investments, if only for a weekend, but he couldn’t. There were situations in Seattle that he couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just the business; there was Sean to consider. A note of genuine regret filled his voice. “I’m sorry, Miss Lindstrom,” he apologized, “It’s out of the question. Now, if you would like to make an appointment, how about the week after next—say, June eighth?”
“No, thank you,” was the curt reply. She was furious when she slammed the receiver back into the cradle of the pay telephone. The city of Seattle, usually a welcome sight to her, held no fascination today. She had come prepared to push her pleas on Noah Wilder, hoping to make him understand her desperate plight. She had failed. After being put off by his secretary, placed on hold forever, and making five fruitless telephone calls, Sheila wondered if it was possible to reason with the man. He was obviously just a figurehead for his father, a temporary replacement who held no authority whatsoever.
Sheila was lost in thought as she walked down the rain-washed sidewalk before wandering into a quiet bistro that had a view of Puget Sound. The cozy interior of the brightly lit café didn’t warm her spirits, nor did the picturesque view of the shadowy sound. Her eyes followed the flight of graceful seagulls arcing over the water, but her thoughts were distant.
Absently, she stirred a bit of honey into her tea. Though it was past the dinner hour, she wasn’t hungry. Thoughts of the winery sitting charred and idle filled her mind. It just didn’t make sense, she reasoned with herself. Why would Ben Wilder leave town and let his obviously incapable son run a multimillion dollar investment business? Pensively sipping the tea, Sheila tried to remember what she could about her father’s business partner. Tiny, fragmented thoughts clouded her mind. Though her father had been partners with Ben Wilder for over seventeen years, the two men had had little personal contact. Ben’s son, Noah, was a mystery. He was the only heir to the Wilder fortune and had been a rebel in his youth.
Sheila ran her fingers through the thick strands of her shoulder-length hair as she tried to remember what it was about Noah Wilder that kept haunting her? Slowly, vague memories surfaced.
Although she hadn’t been meant to hear the whispered conversation between her father and mother some sixteen years in the past, Sheila had listened at the closed kitchen door with all the impish secrecy of a normal fifteen-year-old. From what she pieced together, Sheila understood that her father’s business partner’s son had gotten some girl in trouble. The family disapproved. At the time Sheila had been puzzled by the conversation and then had quickly forgotten it. Although she had always been interested in Noah Wilder, she didn’t know him and had dismissed her parents’ secretive conversation.
The recent problems of the Wilder family were just as cloudy in her mind. Her father had mentioned that some of the bottles of Cascade Valley Cabernet Sauvignon had been tampered with and discovered in Montana, and Sheila remembered reading about the supposed S.E.C. violations in one of Wilder Investment’s takeover bids. However, she had ignored the gossip and scandals concerning her father’s business partner. At the time Sheila had not been interested in anything other than the fact that her marriage was breaking apart and that she would have to find some way to support her young daughter. Her father’s business concerns hadn’t touched her. She had been too wrapped up in her own problems.
Sheila set down her teacup and thoughtfully ran her fingertips around its rim. If only she had known what her father was going through. If only she had taken the time to help him, as he had helped her. As it was, his name was now smeared by the speculation and gossip surrounding the fire.
Thinking about her daughter’s welfare and her father’s reputation spurred Sheila into action. She pushed her empty teacup aside. Despite the warnings of Jonas Fielding against it, Sheila knew it was imperative that she talk with Ben Wilder. He had been a friend of her father as well as his business partner, and if anyone could see the logic in her solution to the problem at the winery, it would be Ben.
She opened her purse and withdrew a packet of old correspondence she had discovered in her father’s private office. Fortunately the papers in the fireproof cabinet hadn’t burned, and on an old envelope she found Ben Wilder’s personal address. The envelope had yellowed with age, and Sheila realized that her plan was a long shot. Ben Wilder could have moved a dozen times since he had mailed the letter. But how else would she find him? He was a man who prized his privacy.
Despite the odds against locating him, Sheila knew she had to find someone who might be able to get in touch with him. A phone number was all she needed. If she could convince him that it was in his best interest to reopen the winery, Ben would be able to order the reconstruction of Cascade Valley. Wouldn’t his arrogant son be burned! Sheila smiled to herself and felt a grim sort of pleasure imagining Noah’s reaction when he found out about her plans. He would be furious! Sheila grabbed her purse, quickly paid the check and nearly ran out of the restaurant.
WHEN NOAH HUNG UP THE TELEPHONE, he had a disturbing feeling that he hadn’t heard the last from Sheila Lindstrom. The authoritative ring in her voice had forced him to reach for the file on the fire. After glancing over the letters from Sheila a second time and thinking seriously about the situation at the winery, Noah felt a twinge of conscience. Perhaps he’d been too harsh with her.
In all fairness, the woman did have an acute problem, and she deserved more than a polite brush-off. Or did she? Anthony Simmons, Ben’s private detective, hadn’t yet filed his report on the arson. Could Oliver Lindstrom really have been involved? What about Lindstrom’s daughter, sole beneficiary to the old man’s estate? Noah shifted restlessly in his chair. Perhaps he should have been