A Calculated Risk by Katherine Neville (best time to read books .txt) 📗

“You think what’s a good investment—for me to lose my temper? Or are you suggesting I purchase a bullwhip?”

“No, the iceboat,” I said. “I think it’s a good—why are you laughing like that? Isn’t that what you brought me out here for?”

He was wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Fine—the iceboat is an excellent investment. The banker of the year has given her seal of approval. I’m glad you like it, my dear—feel free to use it whenever you wish.”

“Don’t be silly,” I told him, lighting a cigarette to distance myself from the way I felt. “I can’t use an iceboat—I live in San Francisco. And that’s where I plan to stay.”

“You live in your fantasies,” he snapped, in a tone of voice I’d never heard him use.

He threw the car into gear savagely, and pulled out onto the road, kicking up snow clouds.

I watched his grim profile, outlined in the dim green lights from the dashboard. It was a while before I could bring myself to speak.

“I don’t understand you,” I told him at last. “I never have. You say you want to help me—but you seem to want to own me. You keep making me over, into some image in your mind, but I don’t know why. I never know why.”

“Neither do I,” he admitted quietly. Then he whispered, as if to himself, “Neither do I.”

We went on in silence for quite some time. At long length, I saw him smile.

“I suppose I think of you just as you think of that iceboat,” he admitted. He looked over at me in the gloom and smiled.

“Perhaps you’re a good investment,” he said.

NEGOTIATIONS

A very good device, I found, was first to haggle with the farmer over the price, and beat him down to the lowest penny. For, strange as this might sound, this inclines the farmer to trust you.

I had learned good and early that if you haven’t got honey in the crock, you must have it in the mouth.

—Bouck White,

THE BOOK OF DANIEL DREW

When my plane circled San Francisco, the air was still glittering with sunshine, the bay was still blue, the little houses on the hillsides were still pastel-colored, and the eucalyptus trees still fluttered in the balmy breezes. The torrential rains in the past weeks had washed everything cleaner than before.

Pearl and Tavish were waiting outside in the green bomber, wearing matching T-shirts that said “Quality Inspected.” But I hadn’t thought of the problem of fitting three people and luggage into a car designed to be entered with a can opener.

“We’ll let Bobby figure this one out,” Pearl said, jumping out to hug me. “Men are better at these menial chores.”

“In Scotland,” Tavish muttered, picking up my bags, “the women do the hod carrying while we blokes retire to the nearest pub—to deliberate upon the role of labor in society.”

But it proved to be a team effort, with the bags tucked into every available space and Tavish installed precariously over the stick shift between us.

“There’s something I have to tell you both,” I admitted as Pearl shot onto the freeway, setting a new sound barrier record for surface traffic. “I didn’t set up the quality circle just to test security and prove Kiwi and everyone wrong. I actually plan to rob the bank.”

“So you said.” Pearl smiled wryly. “But nobody believes you’re going to toss your career down the toilet, sweetie, just to prove a point. Why not write a book about it instead?”

“Things have gotten a bit more complex than before,” I told her. “I’m not just proving a point—I’ve made a bet that I can do it.”

“Curioser and curioser,” Tavish said in a muffled voice, sandwiched between us. “You’ve wagered you can rob the bank with impunity, and I wager we’ll all wind up in jail, without—as you Americans say—passing Go! You must be off yer bloomin’ bean, madame.”

“Oh shit,” said Pearl, casting an uneasy glance in her side mirror. “We’re about to get some company.”

She pulled off the freeway, threw open her door, and jumped out, pulling down her T-shirt and adjusting her “quality inspected” merchandise.

I craned over my shoulder and Tavish’s knees to get a better look at the big, handsome—and very young—patrolman who was ambling our way, ticket book in hand.

“I’ve been behind you since the airport, ma’am,” he told Pearl as he came up. He peered in at Tavish and me—twin anchovies. “You’ve got too many passengers in here for safety—I’m going to have to cite you for that. Weaving in traffic, speeding, reckless driving—you were running on the shoulder of the freeway for a while—no seat belts installed in vehicle …” He flipped his book open, shaking his head.

“My … what an attractive uniform, officer!” said Pearl, rubbing the fabric of his jacket between her fingers. “Are these a new design?”

The officer dropped his book, and she picked it up quickly and handed it to him with a smile. I thought he blushed, but I couldn’t be sure. I’d never seen a cop who was any match for Pearl.

“Yes, ma’am,” he was saying. “Now, if I could just see your license and registration …”

“They fit so nicely. Do you have yours tailored?” We’d be lucky if she didn’t get arrested for soliciting. “Officer, I really must apologize—but to tell the truth, I was having trouble with my car. It’s so hard for me to control all that power. Sometimes, things with so much power just seem to get out of hand, if you see what I mean.”

“This is a high-performance vehicle,” he agreed. “I know it’s a Lotus, but I’ve never seen one like it before.”

“You must know a lot about cars,” Pearl said with admiration. “I belong to the Lotus Club—this is a limited edition—there are only fifty cars like this one in the world. Not many people would have recognized that.”

“I worked as a mechanic in the army,” he admitted modestly.

“Oh, you were in the armed forces,” said