Rough Harbor (2 page)

Noah watched Caitlyn as she walked out of the room. The door slammed, a muted sound, considering how solid it was. He listened again and heard another door slam, this one towards the back of the house. She would be walking now across the broad lawn with the view of the water, the expanse of Queensbay Harbor stretched out in front of her.

It was a windy day, blasting straight off the water, and she would be hunched against the wind and the cold until she made it around a slight bend and then, sheltered, she would step onto the wide porch of her own house, a charming solid, early Victorian.

He put his whisky down. On one level, he’d known she’d be around. After all, he’d known that she’d come back and joined the Randall Group. But seeing her. He’d thought that it wouldn’t have any effect on him, just like seeing Josh, his former party buddy, behind the counter at the Queensbay deli. Just another person from his old hometown. Familiar, friendly…brief.

But no, from the minute he had walked in on her, startled her from her search of his father’s desk, he’d realized that it wasn’t going to be easy. He’d gotten her a drink even though it was far too early, hoping it would calm him, give him some time.

He’d felt her gaze on him, assessing him, taking the measure of him. Had he grown? Once he’d very much wanted to be all that he could be for her. He’d been a boy, but she made him want to be a man, the best one he could be, just so he would be worthy of the beautiful, confident and capable Caitlyn Montgomery.

She had filled out some, growing another inch or two, her body, clearly visible in her tight- fitting running clothes, lithe. Long legs, dark, almost black, wavy hair, blue eyes and that fair skin. There was still just a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and on her cheeks. He’d seen that much when he’d been close to her on the couch.

There had been that moment, an instant when he’d felt more intensely everything he’d felt that summer long ago when she’d waltzed into the pool at the club, in nothing but a red bikini. True, she’d barely had any curves then, but she’d still been arresting, every adolescent boys’ eyes glued to her and the way she strolled. She’d just come off a semester in France, and she had blossomed, every ounce of awkwardness gone. Caitlyn had been funny, confident and completely sure of herself. It had been over ten years, he thought, and no matter how hard he’d worked to make himself who he was, Caitlyn Montgomery could still ignite that flame of desire.

Not that she’d have felt it. Ice queen. Focused, intent and driven. That was the Caitlyn he knew. And the real question was, just what she was doing back in Queensbay? He hadn’t bought that story for an instant, the one where she said Maxwell had been like a father to her.

Maxwell Randall had many skills, chief among them making money. But fatherly instincts were not one of them. Nope, Caitlyn was here for something else entirely.

Noah looked at the desk. She had thought to find something there. Snuck into the house, sure no one would be here. And why not? Apparently his father hadn’t told anyone that Noah was planning a move back to the East coast, or even that they had started to talk again, tentative steps to repairing their relationship.

His father had even gone so far as to say he was proud of him, a week ago at dinner. Noah had noted it down because it was the first time he’d heard his dad say that to him since he had won a swimming trophy in fifth grade. Okay, so maybe he was exaggerating, but not by much.

They’d run out of time. Noah had thought he would have more with his father, but Maxwell’s accident had taken that from them. And now what was Caitlyn Montgomery up to?

She dressed in her old bedroom. Even though she had been home for almost nine months, something kept her from moving into the master suite. Silly, but not even her mother, after all this time, had wanted to take over that room. It stayed there, vacant, little changed.

The house itself, at least its outer shell, hadn’t changed much either. Surprisingly, there hadn’t been much money left after her grandfather’s death. The lawyer couldn’t explain it, how a man who was supposed to be making money for his clients had been so spectacularly bad at keeping it for himself.

All that had been left was the house, which had been in the family for generations, and modest trust funds, one for Caitlyn and one for her mother. Caitlyn had used most of hers to fund her education, first at Wellesley, then at the London School of Economics, while her mother had managed to spend down hers trying to maintain a ‘lifestyle.’

Now, rising home prices and over development had made waterfront property of any kind incredibly desirable – and valuable. Her mother had hinted at this often, the desire to sell, since they were equal owners, but Caitlyn had simply said no. She needed to know that this house, with its quirky floor plan, odd-shaped rooms and the truly fabulous wraparound porch would always be there for her.

Caitlyn shut her window, which looked out over the back lawn and the trees to the flat expanse of the water. The sun was up and bright, the sky blue, but a strong wind chopped the surface of the harbor into a shade of bottle green. Seagulls floated against the sky, holding steady, drifting and then tail diving to the surface.

It had been four days since she found Maxwell’s body, the initial shock turning into an efficient numbness. A nice uniformed officer had walked her back up the beach to her own stairs and into her home, telling her gently that she really should keep the door locked. She had sat then in the study, chilled to the bone and trying to get warm, trying not to think.

Then there had been phone calls from Sam Harris, and she could sense his chilly disapproval over the phone, as if this were somehow her fault. But ever dutiful, he had told her he would take care of things, and she was spared the ordeal of speaking directly to Noah, telling him that his father was dead.

Caitlyn pulled on her dress, a dark, charcoal gray sheath in silk. She struggled with the zipper in the back, remembering the last time she’d worn it, she’d had someone to help her. Fingers shaking slightly, she knew she didn’t want to go to the funeral, but her mother, safely distant in New Mexico, newly detoxed and in love, insisted.

“You must represent the family, Caitlyn,” Serena Montgomery had said. She was still smoking; Caitlyn could hear her sucking on her cigarette over the phone. There was the bark of a dog in the background, and Caitlyn tried to imagine her mother, tall, very thin, pale-skinned and dark-haired, out there in the desert, baking in the sun like one of her own clay pots. Caitlyn neglected to remind her to wear a hat.

It had been on the tip of Caitlyn’s tongue to ask her mother when she had ever cared about representing the family. But that was one of the topics they avoided, one of the many.

“I’ll send flowers,” her mother had said.

“But it’s Maxwell,” Caitlyn answered, as if that said everything.

“And he doesn’t deserve flowers? After all, he’s given you a job. After everything.” Serena still couldn’t think of him as dead.

Her mother had refused to fly back. “Caitlyn, you know I want to sell the house, cut ties to Queensbay. It was your decision to come back. I won’t be pulled there.”

Not for Maxwell, not for any of you. Her mother didn’t say it, but it was there between them, the truth of their relationship. Her mother was moving on. Why couldn’t Caitlyn?

“Yes, mother.”

Caitlyn pulled on her jacket, which matched the dress. She smoothed her skirt and went to her dresser, running a brush through her hair. Her fingers hovered over the jewelry box, passing lightly, as they always did, over the sapphire and diamond ring she no longer wore, but that Michael, in a perverse twist of pride, refused to take back. Caitlyn selected pearls, for both her ears and her neck. Thus armed, she went out the door and to her first funeral since her grandfather’s.

Caitlyn took a seat in a pew about halfway up the church. It was already close to full, and several rows ahead of her, towards the front, she could see the other mourners from the office. Tommy Anderson, another associate of the firm, was there with his wife. And then there was Deborah, the office manager, and Caitlyn’s own assistant, Heather Malloy. There was not enough room for Caitlyn to squeeze in, and in any case, she preferred to be on her own, away from them, the better able to keep her emotions in check.

She had known Maxwell Randall all of her life. He had been her grandfather’s business partner and, after her grandfather’s death, the sole steward of the firm that now bore only the Randall name. Through the years he had stayed in touch with her, swooping into town when on business to take her to dinner. Remembering her birthday, giving her career advice, perhaps even making sure she got her first job. Then finally there had been that phone call, offering her a fresh start.

But in truth, though he’d always been kind to her, not many had truly loved Maxwell Randall, thought Caitlyn, looking over the somber suits and blank faces. Most were here because it was the right thing to do.

It was hard for her to put into words what she felt towards him. Not quite love, something short of that – a fondness perhaps, gratefulness. Maxwell was too difficult to love and, lately, he’d been just plain crazy. Try as she might to remember him as she had known him, younger, hearty, sane, all she could think about was their unfortunate dinner at the club.

There was a murmur in the church, and Caitlyn looked up. The name moved like a ripple through the crowd, and though she wanted to squeeze to the side, to run and hide, she was right there, in the open, visible. She watched as he walked, eyes straight ahead, Sam Harris trailing behind him.

Noah Randall, fresh off of selling his software company. He’d left college with a couple of buddies, some software code and a business plan sketched out on a napkin. In ten years, they’d taken it from their shared apartment to ever-growing offices, customers and value. Noah, though he knew how to code, had showed himself adept at leading people, so he’d become the CEO.

And just nine months ago, he’d sold the company to one of the industry’s big players. He and his buddies had walked away with a small fortune in cash and an even greater payout in stocks. Noah claimed he was taking an early retirement, but the tech and business blogs were frantic with speculation about what venture he’d turn to next. The gossip pages, though, were having a field day, detailing every party, purchase and happening that newly minted billionaire Noah Randall attended.

His eye caught hers as he walked to the front of the church. He was dressed in a dark gray suit, nicely fitted, a muted blue tie and a crisp white shirt. He looked somber, but not as if he had continued to hit the whisky after she had left.

Noah was alone, except for Sam Harris, who was eagerly guiding him up the aisle. What, Caitlyn thought, he’d had no one to bring with him? He was always being paired with someone, usually a model or actress. Caitlyn ground her teeth. She had promised herself that she would tune Noah out, but that had been harder and harder the more he showed up in print and online.

The funeral was appropriately grand. Not many tears were shed, but everyone extolled Maxwell’s virtue as a businessman, a philanthropist and a foundation of the community. No one spoke about family. No one mentioned his recent erratic behavior on the golf course, at the yacht club or at the historical society’s auction.

Caitlyn waited until most of the people had left and then, trailing behind the crowd, she walked down the aisle, her feet echoing quietly. It was cowardly, but she wished to avoid another face-to-face meeting with Noah, especially under these circumstances. No doubt they would have something to say to one another, especially after this morning, and she could see the strain was getting to him, the awful truth. He looked stretched and tense, ready to snap, she thought.

Sam Harris was waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

“Caitlyn.”

“Sam,” she said, looking at her boss with wary eyes.

“I’m glad you’re here. Are you going back to the house?” he asked, the meaning clear.

Caitlyn shook her head. She had paid her respects to Maxwell, and that was enough, but Sam took her arm and pulled her off to the side so they were standing in patch of light, made scarlet by a stained glass window.

“I wish you would,” his voice was low and urgent, and he still held her arm. “As a representative of the Randall Group, if for no other reason. Family is very important to this firm, and you’re a Montgomery.”

“I would think that you’d rather not remind these people of that fact.”

Sam smiled thinly, “That’s old history, Caitlyn, and people like to see the new generation in action.” His gaze turned towards Noah, and Caitlyn could guess the gist of his thinking. Side by side, the members of the next generation of the firm. Given the suddenness of Maxwell’s death, it was just about the best thing Sam could get to calm clients nervous about their money.

“You know how good you are with the clients. I am sure Maxwell would have wanted it.”

It was hard for Caitlyn to take offense at his words. As always, Sam Harris was putting the firm above all else, something Maxwell would have appreciated. They had all taken advantage of her last name. In more than one meeting, Maxwell had said, with all seriousness, “This is Caitlyn Montgomery, Lucas Montgomery’s granddaughter, but she’s like a daughter to me.”

He said it without any self-consciousness, avoiding the fact that he had a son of his own whom he refused to speak to, and who refused to speak to him.

In reality, though she was only an employee, there by Maxwell’s invitation and his good graces. She’d never been able to get him to commit to the future. Maxwell had known what she wanted. But all bets were off now.

Sam ran the firm, at least until Maxwell’s will could be sorted out, and the clients that were here today – and there were plenty of them – were looking for assurances, assurances that everything would continue as before, that Maxwell had left behind him a legacy intact. They couldn’t know that he hadn’t made any plans for the future. If the clients saw that, then they would run, pulling out their money and leaving the firm without a leg to stand on.

All of this went through Caitlyn’s mind as Sam looked at her.

She nodded, acknowledging all that he had left unspoken.

“I’ll go.”