“That would be just jolly, old sport.”
Steinwood heaved a big sigh. “Okay, I’ll call the daughter when I get to the office. I have her contact information there.”
“Spectacular!” Marcus was feeling slightly optimistic. Just slightly.
After returning his gaze to his brochure, Steinwood gave his phone a sideways look and hit the END CALL button. He’d deal with the daughter in a little while. Meanwhile, he needed to choose an interior finish for the custom-made car he was ordering.
* * *
Back in London, Marcus hurried to his apartment to grab a pair of his wife’s earrings from the safe in her dressing room. No, not a pair. Just one. This way she’d think she lost it somewhere. He pressed the buttons on his wife’s jewelry safe. The whirring sound stopped as the locks moved into place. Marcus heaved the heavy door open and spotted the drawer where his wife kept her diamond stud earrings. She must have had a dozen pairs of all cuts and carats. She’d never notice one missing. Marcus took a step back and gave the bounty of jewelry a good hard look.
“There must be over a half million dollars’ worth in here. Probably more,” he muttered out loud. He gave a sigh of relief. “I could easily nick enough to pay the partners if that roving Hansen woman doesn’t return.” It didn’t seem fair, though. She would be going back to Aspen, which meant that Steinwood would get the money that should be his. He hoped Steinwood could persuade Charlotte to return to London. Maybe through her daughter. Didn’t parents always want to please their children?
He wrapped the diamond in a fresh handkerchief. The one in his pocket was sopping from having to mop his brow repeatedly. Then something struck him as odd. He had stopped sweating as soon as he opened the safe. He smirked. “Diamonds are not only a girl’s best friend. They are at the top of my list right now.” A sense of excitement came over him. In just a few hours, he would have what he had been craving all day and would settle his debt with that damned Franny O’Rourke to boot.
* * *
After Steinwood hung up the phone, he wondered what could have accounted for the panic in Marcus’s voice. Twenty-five grand is a lot of money to lay out if you don’t have it coming in. Poor schmuck, he thought to himself. That wife of his is going to be the death of him.
Steinwood and Corbett knew that the gravy train was going to come to an end soon. They had skated through the two mishaps: Lorraine Thompson’s overdose and Marjorie Brewster’s coma in Aspen. Three of Steinwood’s patients had threatened to bring malpractice suits after spending hundreds of thousands of dollars each and being no better off than before the treatment began. He had politely reminded them of the waiver and nondisclosure agreement they had signed. Ironclad. As long as nobody died. But that was a problem. Because somebody had died. And someone from Natural Way Magazine was breathing down Corbett’s neck for an interview. The one thing they did not need was publicity, since they were practicing medicine without a license, a fact that too much transparency might bring to light.
Live-Life-Long managed its reputation through false advertising and phony review websites and blogs. Yes. It was definitely time to convene a meeting with his partners and develop a strategy for exiting the health-care profession unscathed. He snickered at the words health care. As applied to their work, an oxymoron at the very least.
Chapter 12
Pinewood
When Charlotte finished her spa visit, she felt like she was walking on air. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so rejuvenated, including the time after getting her shots from Drs. Steinwood and Marcus. She was beginning to question her judgment. Maybe their longevity program wasn’t right for her. She decided to discuss it with Myra. Myra was always so wise about things like this, and if necessary, Charles could provide information about the program and the doctors. Yes. She was going to talk about her “condition.” Whatever the heck her “condition” was.
The sleek town car pulled through the gates at the entrance to the farm. Charlotte was almost giddy at the thought of spilling her guts to Myra. The driver opened the passenger door and helped her out of the backseat. She reached over for the beautiful package wrapped in white linen, adorned by an equally beautiful orchid. It was a box of Myra’s favorite white chocolate. Charlotte was so pleased that the spa was only a few doors from the chocolatier. Even though candy was the source of Myra’s fortune, the little shop was owned by a French couple who made the most divine white chocolate. For years, Myra had tried to get her kitchen crew to replicate the taste, all to no avail. Charles had once whispered in her ear, “My dear, sometimes a little mystery can be exciting.” Charles would occasionally use that phrase, which always made Myra blush with delight. Charlotte knew Myra would protest, but Charlotte was determined to show her appreciation for all the attention and care she was being shown.
Edward, the driver, tipped his hat and walked Charlotte to the front door. Rarely did anyone come through the main entrance. The sisters always used the kitchen. As the door swung open, Charlotte was greeted by all five dogs yapping in anticipation of pats and snuggles. “Oh my goodness!” Charlotte said gleefully. “I don’t have enough arms!” She handed the box to Charles as he tried to round up the pups. Charlotte squatted and sat on the floor, then let the dogs climb all over her. She cackled with glee.
Charles was very pleased to see Myra’s friend in such a good mood. She seemed almost euphoric.
“I thought I heard laughter and yapping,” Myra said, entering the foyer with a huge grin on her face. She, too, was thrilled to see Charlotte in such a joyful mood. Maybe this is the time to start prying for information, she thought. Well, not right now, but soon. Perhaps during tea. Myra smiled to herself. Charles will serve a nice glass of sherry, which should put Charlotte into a state of complete relaxation. Not that she could get any more relaxed without passing out.
Addressing the pooches, Myra announced, “Okay, girls. Let Charlotte get her bearings so we can have tea.” As if the dogs understood English, they all rolled over, vaulted up, and sat in a straight line.
Charlotte was dumbfounded. “How in the . . . ?”
“It’s the ‘Okay, girls’ command,” Charles interjected. “They also know they will get a t-r-e-a-t.” Though Charles had spelled it out, the dogs knew exactly what he meant, and tails were wagging as if to the beat of a drum. “And they can spell.”
Everyone roared with laughter, causing the dogs to yip and yap some more.
“Come,” Myra said, helping Charlotte up off the floor. “Do you want to change your clothes, or are you comfortable?”
“If I were more comfortable, I would be a muddle of mush!” Charlotte said happily. She linked arms with Myra as she was led to the small atrium adjacent to the kitchen. “Oh, this is lovely. I don’t remember seeing it last night.” Charlotte took in the expansive view of the outdoor garden area. With its floor-to-ceiling glass walls, the atrium seemed to float through to the terrace.
Myra placed her hand on Charlotte’s arm. “There was a lot going on here last night. And you were a bit jet lagged.”
“Is it new?”
“You know how much I love my gardens. Well, one winter, Charles and Fergus surprised me by building this space. It brings the outdoors in, and I can have my tea out here all year long,” Myra explained.