Stephen Frey (18 page)

CHAPTER 12

I
t had been a double funeral. Jimmy Lee's and Teddy's closed dark-wood coffins were positioned side by side before the elaborate main altar of St. Patrick's Cathedral—a massive Gothic structure whose spire towered twenty stories above Fifth Avenue in the heart of Manhattan—with hundreds of mourners looking on and thousands more holding vigil outside. The Hancocks were Protestants, but out of respect for a family that had contributed great sums of money to many of New York's most important causes, city officials had persuaded the Catholic archdiocese to allow St. Patrick's, as Manhattan's most visible religious landmark, to be used for the momentous occasion.

Tom Bristow's funeral had taken place the day before in a tiny church outside Boston, near Concord. The only Hancock to attend had been Catherine, accompanied by Bruce Laird.

The two-hour service for Jimmy Lee and Teddy had been attended by senior Washington officials, CEOs of American and international industry, and a long list of Wall Street and Hollywood executives. The crowd grew so large it spilled down the cathedral's steps and out onto Fifth Avenue, washing wavelike into the street through a long line of black limousines that awaited the two caskets and the family, friends, and honored guests, and wreaking havoc with traffic.

Socialites accustomed to front-row seats were relegated to the back of the cathedral, but they didn't care because this was an event not to be missed. An event by which one's standing in society would be judged for years. The closer to the coffins the better, but being inside the cathedral was enough.

Jimmy Lee and Teddy were buried in a small graveyard shaded by majestic oak trees and surrounded by a wrought-iron fence in a remote corner of the Hancock estate. It was a hallowed site reserved for immediate family members, including Teddy's great-great-grandfather, Blanton, who had founded the Hancock dynasty with a cheap and timely investment in a Pennsylvania oil rig. The investment had paid huge dividends and allowed the family to invest further in oil and railroads, amassing a huge fortune in the process. Bo, Meg, Paul, Paul's wife Betty, Catherine, Bruce Laird, and the minister were the only people present at the burial service, besides the workmen who struggled mightily with wide canvas straps to lower the caskets carefully into graves. Catherine dropped a bouquet of black roses onto each casket and the ceremony was concluded.

The mourners rode back together to the reception at Jimmy Lee's mansion. Paul and Catherine had decided not to hold the reception at the playhouse, which could more comfortably have accommodated the throng of people visiting the estate to pay their last respects. The playhouse had always been used for festive occasions and it felt inappropriate in these sad circumstances.

For the first time the family had an ugly pall hanging over it. The patriarch, Jimmy Lee, had been taken with little warning, and succession was muddied, though Paul had unilaterally declared himself the new leader. Teddy had been taken in his prime—which hadn't happened to a Hancock in Blanton's line for generations. And he had been taken violently in a horrible fire along with his brother-in-law. Most people attending the funeral knew that while Jimmy Lee's coffin contained his body, Teddy's coffin was virtually empty. The explosion which had rocked the Porsche at the bottom of the quarry had been so powerful and the after-fire so intense that authorities sifting through the wreckage had found only a few charred body parts that they could identify as Teddy's.

Before the limousine transporting the funeral party had slowed to a halt at a wide stone path leading from the circular driveway to the mansion's main entrance, Bo pushed open the vehicle's back door, not waiting for the dark-suited attendants who had been hired for the day. After stepping from the car, he turned and held out his hand for Meg. “Come on,” he urged.

“You're in quite a rush,” she said quietly as she emerged.

It had been torture for Bo to share the limousine from the graveyard with Paul. Harder still for him to mourn the fact that Teddy was gone—though he felt great guilt about this—even as the workmen began shoveling dirt onto the casket. Though not blood brothers, they had lived together as a family for many years. There should have been sorrow in his heart, Bo knew. But he could not forget how much pleasure Paul and Teddy had taken in telling him of his adoption. When they'd made it clear to him at the hospital that he was not truly a Hancock, they had reveled in the moment, and he had hated them for it. He would honor Jimmy Lee's wish and do his best to protect Paul from whatever snakes lay hidden in the grass, but he would not relish the task.

“Are you all right?” Meg tugged on Bo's arm gently as they walked toward the mansion.

He smiled at her, overcome by the compassion he saw in her eyes. “I'm fine,” he assured her.

“You look very handsome today,” she murmured. “A rugged man in a crisp dark suit and a starched white shirt. Very gallant. You've always been my knight in shining armor, Bo, and you always will be.” She knew he was having difficulty with the situation, and that he needed her support.

Bo had never gone out of his way to show Meg affection in public. It wasn't his style, but today it felt right. He took her hand tightly in his and, stopping on the path, kissed her forehead. “I love you,” he said. “You've always been so good to me.” He hesitated a moment. “Am I worthy of your love?”

“That's a silly question,” she whispered.

“Am I worthy of this?” he asked, looking up at Jimmy Lee's mansion, which loomed over them. He hadn't told Meg about his adoption yet, and he wasn't certain why. Perhaps it was because he still hadn't fully come to grips with it himself, or because he was afraid of what she might think. She loved him dearly—there was no question about that—but down deep he was troubled that somehow it might alter their relationship.

“How can you even ask that?”

“Do I represent the Hancock family as well as Paul does? He is so impressive, Meg, so much like Jimmy Lee. Do people look at me and wonder, ‘What happened?' ”

“Stop it,” she said firmly. “Stop putting yourself down. I hate it when you do that.”

“What are you talking about?” A slight breeze drifted over the wide, freshly mowed lawn, blowing Meg's hair across her face and bringing the sweet smell of cut grass to them. Bo reached out and pushed her hair back. “I don't understand.”

She caught his rough fingers and kissed them. “I mean that you've always felt as if Paul and Teddy were better than you.”

“No, I haven't,” he answered without conviction.

“Yes, you have. You've always put yourself down and at the same time tried desperately to please them. You've always been willing to be the one toiling in the background while they get all the credit. Warfield Capital is a perfect example.” She shook her head disgustedly. “It's been that way ever since you were young. I've seen the home movies of you as children. It was always them against you, whether it was a snowball battle or a touch football game. And the few times you were on the same side, you were the one doing the blocking while they got the ball and scored. I hate the way they've taken advantage of your willingness to be a team player. It's always infuriated me that they've bullied you into doing the dirty work. And they know I hate it. That's why they've never liked me.” Her eyes narrowed. “I'd like to say that I'm sorry Teddy is gone, but I can't. I never cared for him, or Paul.”

“Meg, I wasn't aware that you—”

“I'm being honest, Bo,” she interrupted. “I've held back all these years, but I won't anymore. I'm telling you what you need to hear. They've never treated you with the respect you deserve.” She swallowed hard. “I'm sorry to say that on this of all days. I'm so, so sorry, but it's time you heard the truth because you need to take charge of the family. You must take control of not only Warfield but everything else too.” She took a deep breath. “Catherine can't run things, she's too weak. She'd be lost, even with help from a team of advisors. Everyone knows that. Paul can't do it either. He has to focus on his campaign. It has to be you, Bo. You need to take the helm. It's your time.” She touched his ruddy cheeks. “I'll help you. We'll do it together.”

Bo gazed at her for several seconds, aware that the others had emerged from the limousine and were headed toward them on the path. “Why haven't you said these things before?” he asked.

“I didn't feel it was my place. But when Paul and Catherine wouldn't let you address the congregation at the funeral, I had to say something. I don't like them, Bo, especially Paul. He fools everyone with his charm, but he's evil.”

Bo's expression turned grim.

“Didn't you want to say something to the people in that church?” Meg asked. “Didn't you want to say something to your father in front of them?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Paul and Catherine didn't even ask if you wanted to speak, did they?”

He lowered his eyes. “No.”

“And you didn't demand to.”

He wanted to tell her why. He wanted to tell her that as an adopted child he hadn't felt it was his right to demand equal time with the blood children before the assembled mourners. That it wasn't his right to demand any time.

She lifted his chin and gazed into his eyes. “No matter what happens, I love you. You know I haven't stayed by your side all these years because of the money,” she said, nodding at the huge home. “I love you because of who you are and what you mean to me. Deep down you are the most decent man I've ever known. I could be happy with you in a broken-down tenement.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. “But there's something I don't understand.”

“What?”

“When I met you at Penn Station a few days ago the last thing in the world you wanted me to do was return to Warfield Capital. Now you want me to take control of everything. What has changed?”

“Nothing, everything. I love you as much as I always have, maybe more, but now your father and brother are gone.” Meg looked up into the trees. This was difficult. She would rather have him to herself, but she knew that was impossible now. “You must take control, Bo. Without you the Hancock family is vulnerable. I don't know Frank Ramsey very well, but I know enough about him not to trust him.” She hesitated. “Most of all, I want the best for you.” She motioned toward the immaculately kept grounds surrounding them. “This is where you belong. You love running Warfield and you should. Just don't forget me.”

“I adore you,” he said, pulling her close.

“I know.”

Bo saw Paul and Catherine approaching. “Let's go,” he urged, taking Meg by the hand and leading her toward the mansion.

As they walked through the foyer and into the great room, they were met by the loud hum of conversation and the scent of flowers.

“There are almost as many security people in here as there are guests,” Meg said, counting the number of dark-suited men working the crowd and trying to seem inconspicuous with wires trailing from their ears down into their suit coats. She had to raise her naturally soft voice to make herself heard.

“Hi, Bo.” Evan Reese strode toward Bo, a tall brunet clutching his arm as if it were a life preserver. “How are you?”

“Fine, Evan.”

“My condolences. Your father and brother were great men. They will be missed.”

“Thank you.” Bo nodded to the young woman escorting Reese. She was several inches taller than Reese and wore a dress that was too tight and too short for the occasion. “I'm Bo Hancock. This is my wife, Meg.”

“I'm Alecia.”

“Nice to meet you.” Bo looked at Reese. “How's the latest film going?” Reese had starred in three consecutive action films for an A-list Hollywood studio and was just finishing a fourth. A Hancock family limited partnership had financed the first film, backing Reese and immediately transforming him from an obscure actor doing bit parts in B movies and advertisements into a bona fide, twenty-million-dollars-a-script star. He was chiseled and bronzed, but shorter and older than he appeared on the screen. Nothing that good camera angles and makeup couldn't combat, Bo thought, at least for a while. “The film is almost finished, I understand.”

“Yeah, we're just about done.” Reese pulled Bo aside so that Meg and Alecia couldn't hear what he was about to say. “I need to ask a favor.”

“What?”

“I'm trying to get Alecia a major part in a film,” he began, “but it isn't working out. She's the next Julia Roberts, I'm telling you, but for some reason nobody in Hollywood is willing to give her a shot. Maybe you could help her out like your father helped me.”

Bo suppressed a smile. Meg was right. It was his time. People saw him as the successor. “We'll see, Evan. Give me a call next week and we'll talk about it.”

“Thanks, I—” Evan looked away and broke into a wide grin. “Hey, Paul, how's the next president of the United States?”

“Just fine, Evan.” Paul moved smoothly into the small circle of people, his back to Bo. Betty remained in the background, smiling lovingly from a short distance away, playing the role of obedient wife as she always did. “Thanks for asking. How've you been?”

Bo watched as Alecia cast her eyes on Paul. He had seen the reaction so many times. Her lips parted, there was a hesitation in responding to Paul's greeting, then she ran her fingers through her hair and tilted her head slightly to the side, smiling demurely as they locked eyes for the first time. It was so predictable. Bo saw Paul smile back—just a quick, subtle flash.

“Come on.” Bo led Meg through the crowd toward one of several bars being tended by men in crisp black tuxedos. He didn't want to watch this.

“What was that all about?” Meg asked.

“That was Paul's way of showing me who he thinks is in charge.”