been a little disappointed Chris hadn’t chosen to go about procreating in the old-fashioned way and that more children wouldn’t be forthcoming anytime soon, of course, but he’d been more than just a little pleased, anyway. In the past few years, Pops’s encouragement to get married had crossed the line into harping, so Chris knew Pops would see this as hope Chris did intend to settle down and have many more children—if not with Ally, then with someone else.
But it had shifted—at least temporarily—focus off the Dagny and the solo attempt.
He understood all too well where Pops’s concerns stemmed from, but sailing had come a long way in the last twenty years, and his father’s boat, the Fleece, had lacked many of the technological and safety features currently being installed on the Dagny. Yes, any attempt to sail solo around the world was dangerous, but the chances of him ending up like his father were considerably less.
Nope, no matter what Pops’s hopes and plans were, he’d still be making his announcement at the club’s annual gala on September tenth. That would be just enough time to get a buzz going before he set sail in October, but not so long that it lost its newsworthiness before it happened.
In the meanwhile, though, he still had to go over the shareholders’ reports. Resigned, but determined to get it done in the least amount of time possible, he dug into the stack of papers. Engrossed and concentrating, he didn’t know Marge had even entered his office until the large manila envelope landed on his desk.
“The courier from Dennison and Bradley dropped this by for you. Can I ask why that shark has been circling the office recently?”
Marge always referred to his grandfather’s attorney as “that shark.” Where the animosity came from, Chris didn’t know. Marge seemed to like everyone else in the world, but she always absented herself whenever Dennison came around and spoke disparagingly of him afterward.
“He’s taking care of a few things for me.” Opening the envelope, his copies of the papers served to Ally this morning slid out in a satisfying bulk of legalese.
“That’s what worries me.” Marge’s brows drew together in a concerned frown. Marge, too, had received the news of the baby with a mixture of joy and shock, and had tossed in an “Aren’t you glad you called her?” as well. But in the three days since he’d returned from Savannah and shared the news, Marge had hovered about, watching with great interest and asking vague, random questions about his plans. As she closed the office door and settled in the chair across from his desk, he assumed he was about to find out why.
Marge squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Your grandfather is going to either kill me or fire me but, either way, I’m not just going to stand by quietly again.”
He knew his grandfather would do no such thing, and he knew Marge knew it, as well. “Again?”
“It wasn’t my place to get involved before. I was still new here and figured there was a lot more going on than I knew about. But after seeing how it’s turned out…” Marge stopped and shook her head. “Porter talks to me, and he’s simply bubbling over with the idea of a great-grandchild. And if he’s called in that shark Dennison, he’s falling back on the same dirty tricks he and your father—God rest his soul—used years ago on your poor mother.”
“My poor mother?” It was all he could do not to laugh at the turn of phrase. “My mother got exactly what she wanted in the divorce—freedom.”
“And I’m telling you that wasn’t what Elise wanted at all. You were too young to understand at the time, but I’d hoped that over the years you would learn the truth. Maybe if Paul had lived, you would have found out, but after he died, Porter closed ranks around you even tighter than before. He’s basically a good man, so I always assumed his behavior was fueled by Paul’s anger and then later his own grief over Paul’s death. But now, I’m not so sure.”
He’d never heard Marge speak a single ill word about Pops, so the clipped words and barely concealed distaste in her voice came as a surprise. Her hesitancy to just spit out whatever was bothering her was also odd. Marge had practically raised him, and she’d never once held back. Obviously, whatever she was stewing about was important.
Marge wasn’t making a lot of sense, but she had his attention nonetheless. “Start at the beginning.”
“Your parents started off with a bang—all fireworks and excitement. Elise was sweet and shy and very sheltered, and she never stood a chance against Paul’s looks and charm and money—something I’m sure you’re familiar with, seeing as you’re him made over.” Marge’s stony facade cracked a little as she smiled at him with pride.
“But that’s neither here nor there.” She waved away the comment. “Unlike you, Paul never could be convinced to take an interest in the business, and Porter indulged his obsession with racing. Paul was always gone—another race, another title, other women—and your mother simply couldn’t continue to put up with it. All she wanted was a simple, amicable divorce.”
“Which my father gave her.”
Marge’s brows went up at the interruption. “At first, yes. Then a couple of years later she met that nice man and wanted to marry him. It wasn’t a problem until she told your father she’d be moving to California after the wedding and they’d need to work out a new custody agreement. I think that was the day your grandfather finally went gray-headed from the news. Your mother left here in tears. I’ll never forget it. Next thing I knew, that shark Dennison was in the mix and he buried your mother in restraining orders, custody papers and competency hearings. Money buys a lot of legal experts, and Elise wasn’t able to fight back.”
A vague memory stirred of his mother on the phone, holding papers in her hand and crying. He glanced at the stack of papers Dennison had drawn up, and guilt nibbled at him.
“I think you’re beginning to get my point. They just wore her down until she couldn’t fight them anymore. Then, to compound the issue, they let you think she’d willingly walked out of your life.”
No wonder Marge had been the one to comfort him after his mother had left. She’d known the reason why. He felt the slow burn of anger in his stomach, but there was nowhere to direct it. His father was dead. His mother was dead. Marge had done the best she could in the situation. And Pops…well, it was tough to stir up too much anger towards a seventy-year-old man who was all the family he really had left.
“All I’m saying, Chris, is that if those papers are what I think they are—and the look on your face tells me they are—then don’t. Don’t do to Ally and your child what was done to you. You can work this out. She doesn’t deserve it and your child deserves to have its mother.”
Marge sat back in the chair and folded her hands in her lap—the signal that she’d said her piece and was done. Now he was faced with a dilemma. He’d let his temper carry him to this point—Ally had been served with these same papers first thing this morning. At least he had Marge’s information before he had to talk to Ally about them and made the situation worse. In fact, he was surprised he hadn’t had an angry phone call already. It was a lot to think about, and he needed to plan his next move carefully.
The intercom on his desk buzzed, and Grace cut in. “Mr. Chris, there’s a—Hey! Wait!” At the same moment, his office door burst open and Ally stood there, chest heaving and curls rioting around her head. She held a familiar manila envelope in one white-knuckled hand.
“You bastard! How dare you. You—” Anger choked off her words.
Grace was right behind her. “I’m sorry. I tried to stop her.”
Three women looked at him. Grace in apology, Marge in question and Ally…Well, he was just lucky looks couldn’t kill.
So much for time to think and plan.
It was a good thing she didn’t own a gun. It had taken a little while to figure out the legalese, but once the meaning of those papers had sunk in, fury consumed her. Even the unflappable Molly had been taken aback