Zinnia (28 page)

“Don't worry about it, Batt.”

Hobart simmered with righteous indignation. “Mr. Chastain, you were very specific in your requirements for a wife. To be quite crass about it, you wish to marry up in the world. You stated that you wanted a spouse from one of New Seattle's most elite families.”

“Listen, Batt—”

“You also told me that you wished to be properly matched. It is going to be difficult enough as it is, given your professional, psychic, and personal attributes. None of which, I might add, do you any credit.”

“I never said it would be easy. That's why I have you, Batt.”

“I'm doing my best under exceptionally difficult circumstances.” Hobart stabbed a finger at the photo. “But how do you expect me to find you a respectable wife if you keep showing up on the front page of
Synsation
in these compromising photos with Miss Spring?”

“There was nothing compromising about that photograph.”

“Not compromising?” Hobart gave him an incredulous look. “The two of you on the very steps of one of the most disreputable Return cults in town? Don't be ridiculous. You have no notion of the damage you have done. Bad enough that most people think that you are only one step above the level of a gangster. Now they'll think that you've either got financial dealings with a cult or that you've joined one. And Miss Spring's presence doesn't add what one could call a positive note.”

“Leave Miss Spring out of it.” Nick planted his hands flat on the desk and shoved himself to his feet. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“On the contrary.” Hobart drew himself up. “I must tell you that these recent photos in
Synsation
have very likely revived old gossip concerning a scandal in which she was deeply involved a year and a half ago.”

“I don't give a damn about that scandal.”

“Well, you certainly should. It was linked to the Eatons, a very distinguished family. It is precisely their social circle that you wish to marry into, Mr. Chastain. Everyone in that very exclusive crowd knows about Miss Spring's shameful affair with Rex-ford Eaton. Mr. Eaton is a married man, you know.”

“Miss Spring did not have an affair with Rexford Eaton,” Nick said evenly. “I can personally testify to that fact. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar.”

Hobart was unfazed. “The facts do not matter, sir. Only the perception. And as far as everyone in that
particular social strata is concerned, she did have an affair with Eaton.”

“Say one more word about Miss Spring and I will personally separate your head from your shoulders.”

“Am I interrupting anything?” Zinnia asked politely from the doorway.

Nick swung around and saw her. The sense of awareness he always experienced in her presence swept through him. She was wearing a rakish little wrap dress with a long sweep of a skirt. The color was lipstick red. Her eyes gleamed with comprehension and something else, something he could not name. But he knew that she had overheard far more than he would have liked.

“Miss Spring.” He dampened the outward evidence of his anger with the ease of long practice. “I didn't hear the door open. This is Hobart Batt of Synergistic Connections.”

“How do you do, Mr. Batt?” She smiled coolly at Hobart.

Hobart flushed. “Miss Spring.” He adjusted the crisp knot of his off-white tie. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you.” Zinnia walked forward. “Is Mrs. Lane still with Synergistic Connections? She was the syn-psych counselor who declared me unmatchable when I registered four years ago.”

The color deepened in Hobart's face. It did not go well with his suit. “Yes, Mrs. Lane is still with the agency. You cannot imagine how difficult your case was for her. She has never forgotten the experience.”

Zinnia propped herself on the corner of Nick's desk. “Neither have I.”

“Yes, yes, I'm sure you haven't.” Hobart looked deeply embarrassed. “Synergistic Connections prides itself on its extremely high success rate with difficult clients. Your case has become something of a legend in the agency.”

“Fancy that.” Zinnia swung her neatly shod foot.

“Mrs. Lane has often given staff lectures on the peculiarities of your situation.” Hobart was starting to warm to the topic. “As I recall your MPPI profile did not go at all well.”

Nick looked from one to the other. “MPPI?”

“The Multipsychic Paranormal Personality Inventory test,” Zinnia explained. “I flunked it.”

“Now, now, Miss Spring,” Hobart said earnestly. “There are no right or wrong answers in such a test, therefore, one cannot say one failed it. The problem was that your psychic profile was so unique that Synergistic Connections was unable to find a suitable match in our files. Mrs. Lane even went into the multiple listing services of all three city-states, but no luck.”

Zinnia slanted a wry smile at Nick. “I bombed in New Portland and New Vancouver, too.”

“Perhaps you should let us try again,” Hobart said with the ever-hopeful tone of the dedicated professional matchmaker. “Who knows? The list of registrants changes constantly. We might have more luck this time.”

“Thank you, Mr. Batt.” Zinnia gave him an heroically tragic smile. “But I've come to terms with my status as an unmatchable woman. I really don't think I could go through the trauma a second time.”

Her air of stoic martyrdom irritated Nick. “I think you've done more than come to terms with it. I get the impression you're starting to enjoy it.”

Zinnia ignored him.

“Nonsense,” Hobart said briskly. “There is no substitute for a good match. Everyone knows that. Our far-sighted Founders understood that only the institution of marriage could provide the synergistic stability needed for a successful society. History has proven them correct. Marriage is the very cornerstone of our civilization, Miss Spring.”

“Spoken like a pro,” she murmured.

Hobart brightened. “Your records from four years ago are still in our files. We could always reactivate them at your request.”

“And a hefty fee.” Zinnia smiled. “Don't bother. And by the way, don't let Mr. Chastain intimidate you. His bark is worse than his bite.”

Hobart blinked. He stared at her as if she'd just announced that the Curtain had reopened. Then he coughed a little. “Yes, well, I must be off. I have a full day of appointments.” He glowered at Nick. “I don't suppose you've finished filling out your questionnaire?”

“Close enough.” Nick scooped up the thick booklet. “Here, take the damn thing.” He tossed the questionnaire across the desk.

Hobart caught it awkwardly. “I'll call you when we're ready for the next phase of the registration process.” Clutching the questionnaire, he turned and marched out of the room.

Zinnia waited until the door closed. Then she looked at Nick with a speculative expression. “You told me that you've never had your psychic talent tested and rated.”

“That's right.”

“Mind explaining how you obtained the services of a top-notch agency like Synergistic Connections without an official psychic classification? I know for a fact that agency insists on a rating. They refuse to match untested talents or prisms.”

“Batt and I have a private arrangement. I've told him to consider me a class-ten matrix.”

“But you're much more than that.” Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. I get it. You're not officially registered with SC, are you? You're trying to find a match outside the system.”

Nick decided that comment did not require an
answer. He came around from behind the desk. “I see you got my message.”

“Yes.” She looked as if she wanted to question him further on the subject of his agency registration, but she apparently changed her mind. “Feather phoned an hour ago to tell me that you located Polly Fenwick and her friend Omar Booker in New Vancouver.”

“I'll tell you all about it over lunch.”

“Lunch?”

“Why not? It's lunch time.”

Polly and Omar had been located early this morning but Nick had told Feather to delay the call to Zinnia so that it would coincide with the noon hour. He saw no need to go into detail about the timing, however. Zinnia would probably get mad all over again.

He took her arm. “We're eating out by the pool.”

“It's raining.”

“It never rains on my pool.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Nick was right, Zinnia discovered a short time later when she found herself on the roof of Chastain's Palace. She listened to rain beat down on the glass roof that covered the graceful pool and lush garden.

“This is amazing. I never knew this was up here.”

“These are my private quarters.”

She noticed that he did not use the term
home.
Home for Nick was still an unrealized element in the pattern of the matrix that was his carefully planned future.

He waited until the waiter had retreated out of sight. Then he looked at her across the small table. “I'm sorry you overheard that conversation between Batt and myself.”

“I assume your decision to marry up in the world is all part of your scheme for becoming respectable?” Zinnia hid the pain she was feeling behind a forced smile as she examined the selection of salads and cheeses.

She was trying to cope with the wrenching blow Hobart Batt had unwittingly delivered.
How do you
expect me to find you a respectable wife if you keep showing up on the front page of Synsation in these compromising photos with Miss Spring?

She was overreacting again, Zinnia told herself. She must not get emotional. She had known all along that Nick intended to marry. It should come as no surprise to learn that he had some very specific requirements in a wife. He was a matrix, after all. Whoever he selected as a mate would have to fit into his grand design for the future.

“I'd rather not talk about my marriage registration,” Nick said in his most remote voice. “I'm still in the preliminary phases.”

“Okay.” It was not a subject she wanted to discuss, either. She forced another smile as she chose a small cracker and dipped it into the tom-olive spread. “Let's get down to business. Tell me about Polly and Omar.”

“In a minute. Did you really mean what you said to Batt?”

“About what?”

He watched her with hooded eyes. “About not wanting to reactivate your old registration with Synergistic Connections?”

“I've got enough problems on my hands. Besides, it would cost a fortune. SC is the most expensive agency in New Seattle. And like I said, why would I want to go through the process a second time? You haven't dealt with real rejection until a professional match-making agency tells you that you're unmatchable.”

“You seem to have borne up rather nobly under the crushing blow.”

“One can adjust to almost anything,” she assured him.

His jaw tightened as if that was not what he wanted to hear. “I have a hunch that Hobart is just looking for an excuse to tell me I'm unmatchable.”

“He did seem a trifle disturbed about your prospects.”
Zinnia munched on the cracker. “Especially given your somewhat stringent requirements. What are you holding over poor Hobart's head to get him to work for you off-the-books like this?”

Nick's gaze gleamed with the essence of pure innocence. “What makes you think I'm holding anything over his head?”

“I know you, Chastain.” Zinnia selected some cheese. “It's second nature for you to use intimidation to grease the wheels in all of your operations. What have you got on Mr. Batt?”

Nick shrugged as he forked up a bite of salad. “Batt owes me ten thousand dollars.”

Zinnia nearly choked on the cheese. “Ten thousand? I don't believe it. Hobart doesn't look like a gambler. I can't envision him losing that kind of money in a casino. What did you do? Set him up?”

“No.” He gave her an amused look. “You don't know much about the synergistic psychology of gambling, do you?”

“I suppose you're an expert.”

“Yes,” Nick said. “I'm an expert. It goes with the territory. Hobart made the mistake of succumbing to the fever one night. Casino policy with mid- and low-range players is to intervene before they get in too deep.”

“Bad for business if word gets out that middle-income people can lose their life savings in Chastain's Palace, I suppose?”

“Very bad.”

“But when poor Hobart got in over his head, you didn't intervene, did you?” she accused.

“Don't worry about Batt.”

Exasperated, Zinnia put down her fork. “Look, Nick, if you want to become socially acceptable you're going to have to stop using tactics like those to achieve your ends.”

“Has anyone ever told you that your girlish naiveté is enchanting?”

“One more crack about my naiveté and I'll push you into the pool. All right, it's obvious that you don't want my good advice. So let's get down to business. Tell me about Polly and Omar.”

“Not much to tell.” Nick tore off a slice of bread from the fresh-baked loaf. “They're registered under false names in a first-class hotel in New Vancouver. Living the good life on my fifty thousand, from what Feather could determine. I've got a private investigator keeping an eye on them.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing for the moment. I still don't think they're involved in the fraud. The man I want is the one who used them to sell me the fake journal. Whoever he is, he's rich enough and sufficiently well connected to be able to afford a master forger like Wilkes.”

“So why pay an investigator to keep an eye on Polly and Omar?”

“A simple precaution. I like to keep track of all the factors in the matrix.”

“I see.” Zinnia pondered that. “Nick, I've been thinking about something you said.”