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him, saying there was plenty of time to become a grandfather.
Only there hadn't been. For the first time Blake realized that Todd's
grandchild would be born within weeks of the first anniversary of Todd's
death. Blake felt a faint shiver course through him. Had Todd lived, there
would have been no grandchild.
Blake shook his head, trying to clear the images in his head. He had been
haunted by Angel for months. He had discovered that he could no longer
sleep in their bedroom. He would wake up each night, reaching for her, and
when he remembered she was no longer there he would lie there for hours,
picturing her with him, seeing her as she had been with him there.
Eventually he had told Foster to move his belongings down the hall to the
corner bedroom. It was smaller but all he needed. And it wasn't haunted by
memories of his beautiful wife.
The phone rang at his elbow. He pushed the intercom button. "Yes, Phyllis?"
"You have a transatlantic call, Blake. A Mr. Jean- Pierre Armand is calling."
Blake stared at the innocent black intercom as though it had suddenly turned
into a hissing, poisonous snake.
"Can you take the call, Blake?"
Sure, why not? He could also slit his wrists, commit hara-kiri or pour
gasoline all over his body and strike a match, but none of them sounded
particularly appealing.
Were they already getting so anxious they didn't want to wait until after the
birth of the baby to contact him?
He forced himself to reach for the phone. "Yeah, I'll take it." He picked up
the instrument and spoke. "Yes, Jean-Pierre?"
"I wondered if you would take the call," was the sardonic response.
"I took it. What do you want?"
"I just wondered if you were the cold-blooded bastard I thought you were or
whether you might want to know how Angel is doing."
"Is she all right?"
"At least you gave the correct response. What I need to know is do you
care?"
"Of course I care. But cut the word games and tell me why you called?"
"I called to inform you that there's a very good chance that Angel won't
survive giving birth to your child. Just thought you'd want to know."
Blake felt as though all the blood in his head drained out and left him
light-headed. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the fact that Angel hasn't been taking proper care of
herself, she hasn't gained enough weight and the doctor thinks the baby is
going to be large. Whenever he tries to discuss the matter with her, she
insists it doesn't matter what happens to her but that the baby must live. She
told me that since the only thing you ever wanted from her was that baby,
she would give it to you, even if she died trying. The point is she very well
may."
"Oh, my God." Blake stared at the wall in front of his desk in shocked
disbelief. "Do you think she would see me if I came over there?"
"That depends on whether you bring your mistress with you."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your precious Marcia. I really think you two deserve each other. Neither
one of you cares how you hurt other people."
"Jean-Pierre, I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't had anything
to do with Marcia Sinclair since Angel and I announced our engagement."
"Then why did Miss Sinclair imply that the two of you were merely biding
your time, waiting for Angel to return to France?"
"When in the world did she say that?"
"You remember. The day I had to take Angel home because she was
hysterical to find out that you were not interested in making your marriage
work. That you had continued to spend your evenings with Marcia, letting
Angel think you were working. Why else did you think I was upstairs with
her, trying to calm her down?"
Blake heard his own voice as though in a distance, his words slowly spaced.
"I thought you were having an affair with Angel."
"You what? Why, you stupid bastard. Even if I ever thought of Angel in that
way, which I haven't, she couldn't see anybody but you. She fell for you so
hard she could scarcely wait to return to San Francisco and marry you."
Blake ignored the rest and latched on to his last words. "Angel loves me?"
"Of course she loves you. Why else do you suppose she's risking her life to
have your baby? She knew you only married her to fulfill those ridiculous
stipulations that your fathers made. Well, I hope everyone is happy now.
They got their marriage, you managed to get her pregnant immediately after
the wedding, and all Angel has to do is produce this multimillion-dollar
child."
Blake felt as though he was in the middle of a nightmare. Nothing made
sense. Angel loved him? She had loved him when they married? She had
loved him and had left him?
"I can't believe this."
"Believe it."
"I swear to you that there is absolutely nothing between Marcia and me. I
don't care what Angel thought."
"Can I believe that?"
"You damned well can. Jean-Pierre, I've been eaten up with jealousy for
months, thinking Angel preferred you."
The background sounds of the transatlantic call were the only response to
Blake's explanations. Eventually he heard Jean-Pierre's groan. "What a mix-
up. Tell me something, Blake. Did you and Angel at any time ever sit down
and talk? I have never heard such a story of misunderstandings and
conjectures in my life. It seems to me that most of the activity in the family
was both of you jumping to conclusions invariably the wrong ones!"
"That's a fairly accurate account, I'm afraid. As a matter of fact, I had come
home early the day I met you in the hallway so that we could have an
opportunity to sit down and discuss things. That's when I felt like part of one
of those ridiculous farces about the husband coming home early and finding
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