Love under contract Page 4

  “How is your mother doing?” Zara looked at him. He always asked about her, but she didn’t know whether he was really interested or if he was asking just to be polite. “Well, I think, she’s traveling, as always.” Zara grinned, since she knew the question that would come next. “With that Italian-American? What’s his name?” It was always the same script, either he had Alzheimer’s or he did it on purpose, to show how unimportant his first wife had become as far as he was concerned. In the meantime, Blondie knew the name, and trumpeted: “Antonio Bertucci, Darling, that’s the actor . . .” “But he’s years younger than your mother!” her father exclaimed. He was right, but mother thought that he didn’t know that, and was therefore an even more frequent guest at the cosmetic surgeon’s. Her lips had acquired the breadth of the lifeboats of the Queen Mary and her bust was nearly the size of Blondie’s.

  Philipp had a good memory; whenever he asked these questions, he thought about the woman that he had once married. She came from the same circles as he, was extremely young, a beauty, everyone was after her, but she had something so innocent about her. My God, how he loved her, like no other woman after her, but somehow they had grown apart. He couldn’t really explain it, perhaps he himself was at fault, the profession, his career, he had less and less time for her; and then there were the other women, who were always there and who idolized him, and then it was only a matter of time before she did the same thing, and took a lover. But in all these years he had never become indifferent to her, and especially since she had given him his only child, Zara.

  She, mind you, developed with such ambition, which had always been missing from his side of the family. She studied like crazy, skipped entire school years, finished her degree two years before the others and wanted to become successful. His ex-wife wanted that once too, until she fell apart because of that pretty boy, what was his name, he thought hard, something like the name of the blue jeans label – yes, Levy. He had seen that name somewhere just recently. When she lost her heart to that blond chap, everything was over.

  “Say, have you heard anything about the new CEO of LHM?” Zara was happy to note that her father did read things other than periodicals about wine. “I’ve already made his acquaintance,” she murmured. “Isn’t that the pretty boy who threw your mother out of her own firm?” And not only that, thought Philipp. Here the stepmother interjected: “His name is Gregor Levy.” Does Blondie read the business pages after all? Zara flinched. “Sorry, but I read about him because he’s dating an actress.” Philipp looked at his wife; her IQ was miniscule, but her measurements were extraordinary, he thought.

  “Exactly, that’s his name, and yes, he was, then,” Zara confirmed. “And how is he? When he led the firm as CEO, the stock rose.” Zara nodded, yes, Gregor Levy was successful and merciless, and he was on a buying- and cost-cutting course, as he had announced upon taking up the post.

  “He’s just as mother described him, a devil with the face of an angel,” Zara said – and thought about Gregor in his tight running shorts – and he has a dreamy body – but she didn’t say that; her father had apparently misunderstood her.

  Zara spent three days quietly; she rode through the vineyards, and saw her father and his wife only in the evenings. In the morning she was mostly already awake before the others got up, went running and wrote her articles wrapped in blankets among the vines, and studied documents and contracts.

  On Thursday, when she boarded her plane in Paris for New York, she was certain that she did not want to be a politician’s wife and that Robert was not the right one in any case. She also didn’t want to be one of the women in his collection. There was someone else whose head she wanted to turn, and she had a plan. A fiendish plan.

  Soon after she returned, Walters came into her office, which was quite unusual. The firm was very large and employed a great number of attorneys, and she was just one of the many young lawyers.

  Bill Walters sat down on the chair that faced Zara’s desk, and scrutinized his young attorney. In her black pantsuit, the little white blouse and the narrow black-rimmed glasses, she seemed not only older than she was, but one could be fooled into thinking that here was a different woman than the one whom one encountered in the evening at receptions, balls, and other events. She seemed very serious and grave, otherwise he wouldn’t have hired her as young as she was then, and she had never disappointed him, not once. Quite the opposite, actually; she was more ambitious than the other young lawyers in his firm, she worked harder and longer hours than they, and was one of the few here whom he could assign to international cases without a problem. She readily flew to London, Paris, or Rome for the day. At some point he would make her a partner, if , in the meantime, she didn’t marry one of these wealthy East Coast fellows who were after her, like Robert.

  “Bill, this is a surprise,” Zara said and sat up straight. “I wanted to discuss a case with you – perhaps you might want to take it on,” Walters began carefully. She beamed at him. “Alone?” She had never worked on a big case alone as yet. He laughed. “Not entirely; it’s a very sensitive case – you’ll be working with David Goodmann.” Goodmann was the other senior partner whose grandfather had founded the firm.

  “I’m on it. Tell me what it’s about.” Zara was curious and eager; since Walters was discussing the case with her privately, it was to be handled very discreetly or it must be very distinctive.

  Walters stood up and went over to the window, looking down at the busy street below. This New York traffic – he was happy that he lived in Connecticut, he thought, even though it took forever to get to the office every day.

  “Now, you no doubt know Michael Allison.” Oh, yes, of course, who didn’t know Allison, a talented designer who worked for one of the big fashion houses, or had worked for one.

  “Naturally.” “Now, he worked for Angel & Fields, the young label, which belongs to LHM. “Yes, I know,” Zara said slowly; now it was becoming really interesting. “He was thrown out, allegedly because he did not deliver the collections in a timely manner and was preparing one of his own instead. But he had a five-year contract, which means . . .” “. . .he is owed a lot of money, since he’s only been at A & F one year.” Walters nodded. “Exactly. If LHM wouldn’t say that he had neglected his duties in order to become independent . . .” Zara leaned back and looked at Walters calmly. Her heart beat fast and strong; this was the opportunity that she had been waiting for, she had to have this case. “I have to work on this case, Bill!” she said with certainty. Walters laughed, he knew that she wouldn’t say no, although he had no inkling that Zara had a personal interest.

  Normally, Gregor wouldn’t be bothered with things like law-suits; he had plenty of other things to do. But Alain Berger felt it necessary to keep the new CEO informed since the directive to fire Michael Allison had come from him, and A & F was one of the most important retail store brand names, which were to be found all over the world.

  When Alain arrived at Gregor’s vast office, he found him sitting in his black leather chair and staring at the New York skyline through the panoramic window in front of him. Gregor’s thoughts were not at all centered on work; he was thinking of Julia. Alain cleared his throat, and Gregor turned around in his chair to face his right-hand man, whom he had known a very long time. The small, dark-haired fellow was German, like Gregor, although he had a French mother. They spoke mostly German with one another, particularly when no one else was to understand what they were saying. “Hello, Alain, you wanted to speak with me regarding something important?”

  Gregor leaned back in his chair as Alain studied his boss. The man has incredible luck, he thought; his rapid rise, first as an investment banker, then CEO, and he still looks terrific and always has a Hollywood star on his arm.

  “We may have a problem, Gregor,” he began carefully. “Michael is making trouble.” It seemed as if Gregor had expected this. “Right, he wants to sue us.” Gregor shrugged his shoulders. “I think our attorneys will take care of it, right?�
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  Alain sighed. It was usually not a problem, but Michael Allison was well-known, very well-known, even if his designs were not to Gregor’s taste. He definitely had a name in the fashion world.

  Therefore, he best lay all the cards on the table for Gregor. “He’s hired Harmann, Goodmann &Walters.” Gregor smirked. “Not bad, but even that shouldn’t be a problem; I can call Goodmann,” Gregor said, somewhat relieved. Alain shook his head. “Goodmann isn’t handling the case; they have assigned a young lawyer, a woman, to the case, and you’re not going to be happy.” Gregor’s smile vanished; he had a premonition. Alain nodded, as if he could read Gregor’s thoughts. “Right, Zara Valois-en-Beaujolais.” Gregor tapped his fountain pen on the desk. “Hmm, she’s just a beginner,” he said, after a brief pause. “Don’t underestimate her, Gregor; her articles in various periodicals are very good, and she also has good political contacts. She can make this into a gargantuan scandal, which we don’t need at this moment. You’re new here, and scandals right at the start aren’t a good thing,” Alain suggested.

  A scandal was definitely not what Gregor needed right now. Finally the share price was up and he had just found a new designer for this young label who, hopefully, made clothes that were also commercially successful.

  “I’d like to be present at the meeting with our attorneys,” Gregor said as Alain got up to go, “Oh, and bring me everything you have about Michael Allison!” Alain nodded.

  Robert called at least once a day and it was already a little embarrassing for Zara to constantly decline his invitations. But she had to concentrate on the new case, and in addition, she had other social responsibilities; and, finally, he got on her nerves.

  Michael Allison waited in the outer office and Robert was telling her about his last political meeting, which she usually found interesting, but not today and not now. “Robert, I’m sorry, but my client is waiting outside,” she interrupted him, sighing. Robert paused briefly. “So tell me, is your work so much more important than I am?” he finally asked. “You’re not serious, are you? Was that a rhetorical question?” Zara replied. “I didn’t see you at all last week, except for coffee between meetings, and this week – it looks as if you’ll probably be busy again.” “Robert, I’m sorry but this is the most important case that I’ve had to date.” Zara had become impatient. “Damn it, Zara . . .” Robert had thought about whether he should go so far as to ask Zara to be his wife, even though he hadn’t yet slept with her, even once, and had decided that for him and his political goals there was no better fit than this Frenchwoman – he just had to turn her into an American, but that was just a formality.

  “Robert, Friday, I promise.” Zara glanced at her calendar in her Notebook; she could leave her meeting at 6:00 p.m. and meet him thereafter. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Yes, Robert, I’m free after 9:00 p.m.,” she assured him again, before she hung up the phone, and hoped he was satisfied.

  Allison told Zara everything; he knew of her from various newspapers and publications in which she had appeared, and he felt safe with her. The next day, after working all night, she discussed the charges with Goodmann. Goodmann skimmed through them and didn’t even notice the essential points; he had confidence in her; everything would be in order. LHM should pay and that would be the end of it, he thought. His mind was on more important cases that were worth more money. But Zara had other plans . . .

  Accompanied by Goodmann, another young attorney, and Allison, she appeared in court, and of course, the media were intensely interested. The judge was a woman – and as if she had known that, Zara wore not only the plainest suit that she could find in Allison’s collection -- she had to admit his clothes were in part not wearable, particularly for the mass-market -- she also wore her glasses, parted her hair on the side, and looked absolutely like a nose-to-the grindstone Tillie-the-Toiler.

  The judge was apparently a fan of toilers and small Frenchwomen and immediately smiled at the young lawyer. “Miss Valois -- . . . ,” she said, and then stumbled over the rest of her last name. Zara immediately interrupted, “Miss Valois is fine.” The opposing attorney looked at his partner and rolled his eyes; this little lawyer knew how to get the judge on her side. “That’s perfect,” the judge said, relieved.

  Zara then spoke about prime examples, that Allison wasn’t an isolated case, that LHM, that is to say, the CEO, Doctor Levy, acted strategically to force people out, to falsely reproach and discredit them, so as not to pay their contracts in full. Yes, it was the moment for revenge, Zara thought.

  Goodmann watched Zara and regretted that he hadn’t read the complaint more closely. What was she saying, witnesses? What witnesses? Oh, goodness! He sighed. This case will put the office in the headlines. Not that that was bad, but he thought of his friend who happened to be the one affected, and Goodmann didn’t want to spoil things with Gregor.

  When Zara was finished, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone. The opposing side looked quite pale, and that made Zara even happier. She smiled at the three attorneys, older men in dark suits – yes, they had underestimated her; she wasn’t the dumb little aristocrat that a lot of people thought she was . . .

  Gregor met with his attorneys later that day, after they had informed him that the complaint named not only LHM, but also him personally, as well as his predecessor. He asked to see the indictment, quickly skimmed it, and sighed. Actually, he should have expected this. “Okay, we have a problem,” he said. “We want to settle with Allison – I don’t need a scandal – and this noblewoman is determined to create one.” One attorney interjected, “But this could set a precedent.” Gregor nodded. “Then come up with an idea, cast doubt on the reputation of the lawyer -- personal bias or something similar – you’re the lawyers,” he browbeat the attorneys. “We’ve already become a bit devious regarding Miss Valois,” they replied.

  Gregor noticed a file on the desk of one of the lawyers and picked it up. It was background information about Zara. “You must have made a mistake; according to your information she just turned twenty-six.” The older attorney nodded. “Yes, that’s correct!” Gregor was incensed. “And you want to let yourself be boxed in by a twenty-six year old girl . . .” He shook his head. “Careful, you may be talking about our next First Lady,” said the younger lawyer, who wanted to lighten things up a bit. “And if Madame becomes the Empress of China, you’ll make the problem disappear . . .” Gregor threw the file on the table and stood up. She really would marry Robert. I wonder if he’s enjoyed a night in bed with her as yet, or has she still left him hanging? The shrew! Gregor thought.

  After Gregor left the room, the oldest of the three attorneys said: “I’ve never seen him in such a bad mood . . .” The youngest responded with a smirk, “According to the gossip columns, he ended the relationship with his girlfriend, the actress, yesterday.” And the men laughed.

  Gregor had other worries besides the end of his romantic relationship. He sensed that Zara wanted something else; she wanted not only to restore her mother’s reputation, but also the return of the shares – which she could accomplish only if she succeeded in having the contract declared illegal, and to prove criminal intent, portraying him as a crook who had taken her mother’s business from her under false premises.

  Gregor reached for the telephone and dialed the private number of David Goodmann. When Goodmann answered, he heard him say, “This is Gregor; we have to talk.” Goodmann wasn’t surprised; he had been expecting Gregor’s call.

  Zara went out with Robert, suspecting nothing. He had chosen a nice restaurant, as always, since he invariably wanted to impress. Zara felt tired -- the trial, the preparation, took a great deal of time and often after working long into the night, she couldn’t sleep. It was a nice evening – until the point when Robert suddenly pulled a box out of his jacket pocket, and dramatically fell to his knees – they weren’t alone in the restaurant – and took her hand. Zara didn’t quite know what was going on; had she missed something? “Zara, I want you to be my w
ife.” He put the ring on her finger. Zara was so stunned that she said nothing. She didn’t want to marry him; didn’t he notice that?! She hadn’t anticipated that he would go that far. He’s got to be crazy! “Robert . . .” She looked at the ring, a gigantic diamond, and had a thought. Zara was calculating; she knew that if she went to trial as the fiancée of the man who was possibly the next President, each and every reporter who had a camera or a microphone would be present; she could always break up with him afterwards, preferably after Christmas, when she returned from vacation, or she could send the ring back to him . . .

  The engagement was the primary story in many newspapers. The journalists had of course chosen a fitting photo to enhance the comparison with Jacqueline Kennedy: Zara in a pink Chanel suit. The headlines were almost all the same: “Finally, a new Jackie!” “He did it, she said yes.” She hadn’t really, only Robert and she knew that, but Robert didn’t seem to have noticed. He was keen to give interviews, and the possibility of his becoming the next President was actually good. With a wife, he would also shed his playboy image.

  Zara’s stock rose too – on the first day of hearings, there was absolutely no space for even one more person in front of the New York Courthouse. The street had to be closed. Cameras were present – everything that Gregor didn’t want.

  He entered the building through a side door and first saw Zara in the courtroom. She looked perfect in her fitted black dress, her glasses, so fragile, one simply had to believe everything she said, she was such a good actress. The judge was definitely on her side – one could tell by how she smiled at the young lawyer. As expected, she had found another designer who had been dismissed by Gregor’s predecessor similar to the way that Michael Allison had been. At the end of the first day, Zara left the courtroom triumphantly – tomorrow she would bring up other cases, her mother’s among them.