Miller's Secret Page 11

  He sat in the chair next to her, patting her hand that rested on the arm of the chair. “Nothing wrong, per se. Rather, it’s a somewhat uncomfortable matter I need to discuss with you. I will preface by saying I’ve given this a lot of thought and my decision has not been made in haste.” Father, tall and broad chested, was a man who had aged well. More salt than pepper to his thick hair these days made him appear distinguished and authoritative. He’d remained active, playing tennis and golf, keeping him tanned and fit. “Who I name as my successor is enormously important to all of us. We’re in an uncertain time now, after this war. Many hard decisions must be made about what choices we make going forward. The world’s changed, as you know, and I’m not the man to take us forth. It’s taken a lot of soul-searching to realize that.”

  “I know you’re not impulsive, Daddy. Whatever you’ve decided, I’m sure is the best thing.” She always called him Daddy in this room.

  He patted her hand again and took a drink from his brandy. “I don’t know what you or Miller have assumed about who will take my place. He and I have never talked about it.”

  “We’ve discussed it.” She cleared her throat, hoping to think of the most tactful way to describe their hopes for the future. “That, and he wishes you’d allow him to be a full partner in the business.”

  “Give him part ownership, you mean?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “We don’t think ownership should go out of the family, sweetheart. You know that.”

  “Daddy, I’ve been married to Miller for almost seventeen years. How much longer before you consider him family?”

  Father was quiet for a moment, looking into the fireplace as if it were lit. “It was something of a leap of faith for your mother and I to agree to the marriage, and as the years have unfolded, our fears have increased, not lessened.”

  “But why, Daddy?” Shock expanded the space between her shoulders. “I’ve always been grateful that you gave your blessing, knowing what you hoped instead.” Who he had hoped for her. Julius Nelson. “Is it because of where he came from?” Her voice cracked. She folded her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking

  “Absolutely not. His upbringing, although unfortunate, is not the reason for our feelings.”

  “What is it? No one could’ve worked harder over the years to prove his worth to you.”

  He sighed. “Sweetheart, although he’s worked hard and he’s charming and obviously clever, your mother and I do not think of him as family. We can’t explain why exactly.”

  “Try.”

  He undid the top button of his shirt and pulled at his tie, loosening it so that it hung slack at his neck. “We think he’s like an actor on the stage. A bad actor, that is. He says all the right lines but there’s a lack of credibility somehow. We don’t trust him.”

  She stared at him, unable to think of a single thing to say. Had her parents always felt this way? How could she not have seen it?

  “Anyway, regardless of our personal feelings, we don’t think Miller’s the best choice for taking my place,” he said.

  “Why?”

  Impatience crept into his voice. “Simply because he’s our son-in-law doesn’t mean we should choose him over someone with more experience or wisdom, especially when it comes to running the company. As much as I want to keep the peace between us, Caroline, I can’t make a decision based solely on you. I have hundreds of employees who rely on us for their livelihood. We need the right man at the helm.”

  “And Miller’s not that man?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Is it Stewart Young?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m giving the presidency to Stewart. He’s fifty years old, which means he’s been with me for twenty-seven years. He’s been my right hand all this time. No one knows the company better than he. His character is above reproach. He’s a family man, you know, and that means a lot to me. Over the years I’ve seen men do all kinds of things when they think no one’s watching. Stewart’s not one of them.”

  “How do you know? I mean, if no one’s watching him.”

  “I’m watching. He just doesn’t know it.” Father chuckled. The skin around his eyes crinkled in the way Caroline loved. As angry as she was in the moment, the love between them remained. That would never change.

  She took another sip of her brandy, hoping it would warm the sudden chill that had come upon her. “When will you tell him?”

  “Tonight. After this.”

  “Nothing has been more important to him than to be esteemed by you,” she said. Nothing. Not her, not the children. “He’s not going to understand.”

  “I hope to let him down gently.”

  “It would lessen the hurt, if you gave him part ownership in at least the textiles.”

  He patted her hand again. “Everything will go to you after our deaths. I’ve made sure it’s clear that all of it will be yours, not Miller’s. I need to feel sure that you’re protected. Do you understand this has all been for you? You’re the rightful heir to this family’s fortune. Not an orphan kid with a lot to prove.”

  “Daddy!”

  “I’m sorry. That was a cruel thing to say. It’s not what I mean.” He looked remorseful for a moment. “Caroline, what do we know about him? Truly. After all these years, neither your mother nor I feel like we know him.”

  “He’s just what he seems to be. A loyal employee, husband, son-in-law.”

  “I find it interesting that you didn’t say father.”

  “I meant to. He’s a wonderful father,” she said.

  “He’s an absent father. You’ve raised these children alone.”

  “Because he’s been trying to please you all these years.” Her voice had raised an octave. Tears came again. Angry, hot tears. “All he’s done is work to prove to you that he has what it takes to become you.”

  “He’s not me.” Father’s usual soft, low voice had deepened, grown combative, not so much a shout as a growl. “That’s just it. I finished my workday and rushed home to your mother and you. I knew that all of it, the houses and wealth could vanish, but if I had you two I would still be a rich man. I learned that lesson during the First World War. When I was crawling through the trenches, all I could think about was you and your mother. Just getting back to you. The bargains I made with God...” He finished off his brandy and went to the cabinet to pour another. With his back to her, he sighed. When he turned back around, his voice sounded softer. “Miller doesn’t understand the value of what he has at home. He knows only ambition and position and money. I’ve never said this to you, Caroline, because I wanted to keep the peace between us, but he’s not the man I wanted for you. There’s never anything so important that it keeps you from your family.”

  “Daddy, you realize you’re the only man I’ve ever met who thinks that.” Other men didn’t think this way. She was certain of it. Most men were concerned with who they were and what they did.

  He leaned against the cabinet, dwarfing it with his wide shoulders and tall stature. “I may be, but that doesn’t mean I’m not right.” He crossed the room and sat again in the chair, leaning forward with his long legs bent at a ninety-degree angle. Dangling the drink between his legs, he bowed his head. “I’m sorry to upset you, sweetheart. I’ve never understood how anyone could resist either you or your mother. To me, you are perfect.”

  “You’re mistaken.” She wiped under her eyes, managing a smile. “But we think the same about you.”

  “And you’re mistaken.” A pause, as he sat straighter and looked over at her. “Miller needs to spend more time at home. That’s what I want. I want to see him here with us this summer, spending time with the children, treating you like a queen.”

  Ice flooded her veins. Was there more to this than her father’s belief that men should spend time with their wife and children? Did he suspect there was a woman? Or women? “Daddy, is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Father set his drink aside and patted her knee. �
�No, love.”

  She knew not to press further. Father had his ways. Peculiar and dear as they might be, he was a man of integrity who mulled all matters with care and diligence. Once he’d decided, there would be no changing of his mind, no matter how she pleaded Miller’s plight.

  “Could you ask him to come in now?” asked Father.

  She agreed, rising from her chair, suddenly fatigued. She hadn’t felt herself for a week or so, unusually tired. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was pregnant. With as little as she and Miller had relations, it was unlikely. What had it been? Once in the last six months? He wasn’t interested in her, claiming tiredness by the time he came to her at night. She put that out of her mind. The most important thing was to get Miller through this disappointment as best she could.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Miller

  THE OLD MAN POURED MILLER A BRANDY and asked him to sit in one of the chairs near the fireplace, which was still warm from Caroline’s body. Edmund always sat in the chair to the right. Edmund’s chair. The big man’s chair. It always struck Miller what a masculine room Edmund’s study was, with its mahogany trim and dark drapes and furniture, misplaced in a house of soft hues and textures. He waited, excited, knowing what was coming. Finally, after all his hard work, his years of pretending, he would become the leader of Bennett Industries. He had no misconception that Caroline’s father would ever step completely aside and let him run things as he wanted. There would be advice and interference, and Edmund would still be chairman of the board. Yet still, it would be Miller’s turn to be in charge, to be the ultimate authority. When he imagined the job, he envisioned the top hat Edmund wore. Big man. Big hat. This new position was like that hat. And, it was his. Finally.

  Edmund settled in the chair next to him. “I’ll come right out with this, Miller. I’m giving the presidency to Stewart.”

  It took him a moment for the content of the sentence to reach his brain. It was as if he heard the words, congratulations, it’s about time you took over, can’t imagine anyone better, only they came out in the wrong order or language or something. Stewart. He was giving the job to fucking Stewart? He was giving it to someone outside of the family?

  Miller sat in stunned silence for a moment. He’d heard that phrase before and wondered what it meant exactly. Now he knew. He was paralyzed, like one of those stupid birds that fly into a glass window and knock themselves out and fall to the ground.

  “I’m sorry, Miller. I understand you’re disappointed, but Stewart has more experience and maturity for the position. You’re still a young man.”

  His mouth was dry. He took a sip of brandy. He should have seen this coming. The old man had never treated him like family. He was still just Caroline’s husband instead of a son-in-law or a son. I love him like a son, he had expected him to say after just a few months. The son I never had. Instead, Sophie and Edmund had kept their distance. He’d expected that their kindness was exploitable, but he’d miscalculated. They loved the children and Caroline with something bordering madness. But him? Nothing but politeness, like a distant relative they tolerated and slightly distrusted. No matter how he poured on the charm or melded himself into their world. Nothing worked. Not even being the children’s father. Surely he would get some credit for them? But no, it was like Caroline had conceived them by herself. Despite Edmund’s outward warmth, Miller knew that he would never be allowed into the inner circle. He was still an outsider.

  All this went through his mind as he prepared the latest falsity. Be gracious. Pretend it doesn’t matter. Act humble. He must hide the seething anger that now coursed through his body. “I assumed it would be Stewart. So kind of you to consider me at all. I had no expectations. My God, no, none at all.” He forced a laugh, like he was delighted the old man had considered poor old orphan Miller as a candidate. “I’m happy to be where I am, considering where I’ve come from. I still have much to learn, Mr. Bennett, and I hope your retirement doesn’t mean I can’t still come to you for advice.” Mr. Bennett, never Edmund. The epitome of politeness. Well-bred. Well-mannered. This was part of his act. The voice coach had taught him how to speak without dropping “-ings” at the end of words. Mending, not mendin’. Clipped, with aspirated T sounds, like the Bennetts.

  “Yes, please.” His words were polite, but Edmund’s eyes were locked upon him, like Miller was a predator threatening his family. Even after his big act, he didn’t believe him. Edmund was like Sister Catherine from the orphanage. That battle-axe never bought into his act, either.

  “As a matter of fact, Mr. Bennett, I have an idea about how to increase productivity in the factory. I’d like your thoughts. See if there’s a flaw in my reasoning.”

  “You can come to me anytime.” Edmund put up his hand in a gesture of weary dismissal. “However, not tonight. I’m tired. This decision has taken its toll. And now that I think of it, perhaps it would better if you talked it over with Stewart. Other than keeping a close eye on my own financials, I plan to step aside, and let Stewart steer the ship. I want to spend more time with my family while I still feel well and fit. In addition, I have my charity work to attend to. More and more, I find it’s the legacy I’d like to leave. Ah, well, never mind. I’m becoming one of those old bores obsessed with his own mortality.”

  Miller smiled at Edmund’s self-deprecating humor. Since the beginning, Miller had observed him closely, imitating his charisma. There was no denying that his father-in-law was not only sharp-minded and charismatic, but also warm and compassionate, just like his daughter.

  “I agree, Mr. Bennett. Tonight should be about celebration.” He raised his glass. “To your next adventures.”

  They clinked glasses.

  **

  Later, in his own study, Miller sat at his desk with his notebook open, staring at the wall. He had his feet on the desk, sipping a glass of whiskey, not up, like Edmund preferred, but on the rocks. In his own house, he would drink his drink how he wanted it. He grabbed a pen to write in his notebook. When he first married Caroline, he noticed that Edmund, too, used a notebook. “My wife’s idea years ago,” he told Miller. Apparently, he’d forgotten that Mrs. Bennett had also provided the children at the orphanage with the same journals.

  He wrote business ideas or thoughts in it, Edmund explained, so that he didn’t lose the thread of anything. The idea of a thread caught Miller’s imagination. He pictured this thread as a long string connecting all aspects of a life. One does this, this leads to that, and so forth. Connecting threads. Getting what he wanted. When he wrote something in his notebook, it became reality.

  Of late, he found himself pondering whether it had all been worth it in the end. Was the obsession, the planning that led him to Caroline, whom he did not love, in exchange for her money, lifestyle, and the opportunity to work with one of the most powerful families in the country worth it all? Three years ago he would have said, yes, without a doubt. However, Philippa Rains had changed everything. He had not understood the seduction of romantic love, how it colored one’s life, brightened and changed the hue of everything. He had not known that he could want a woman as he wanted Phil.

  Lately, he’d started doodling in his notebook, writing Phil’s name like a schoolboy. He couldn’t stop himself. One day, the phrase had come to him. The thread. Someone had to die. This was the only way to be happy. Either he must die, and be put out of his misery, or Caroline must die. After what happened tonight—this rejection of him for what should be his rightful position—it was the frayed end of the thread.

  He tossed back the rest of the whiskey and rose to his feet, pacing back and forth between his desk and the window. He could not divorce Caroline and remain sheltered under the umbrella of his father-in-law’s wealth. They would decimate him. Edmund would take everything away, all of it that he’d worked hard for over the past seventeen years. He would be dismissed from his position and unable to secure another executive position because Edmund would ruin any opportunity for him. Edmund knew ever
yone and had his greedy hands in businesses all over the state. Even the government was in his pocket. Not once over the years had he ever loosened the reins and given Miller autonomy or trust. None of this was Miller’s. He was still an interloper, a borrower of time and money.

  It was simple math. There were three people involved. One must go.

  The fantasies of Caroline’s death had started a year ago. At first, they were only fantasies, daydreams from the backseat of his car while Joseph drove him to work. What if something happened to his wife, through no fault of his own, so that he might be free? What if she were hit by a car, or fell off the cliff on one of those interminable walks she took. Maybe a horse riding accident? Or, one night she had too much wine and slipped on the stairs, hitting her head on the marble floor? These were all common occurrences. Why couldn’t one happen to her?

  It became habitual, these musings and imaginings over her death. With each passing day, the fantasies became more detailed. The way in which the accidents could unfold played in front of his eyes like a moving picture. Yesterday morning, on his way down the stairs, he saw her lifeless body crumpled on the floor. He had blinked, unsure for a moment if somehow his wish had come true.

  He settled on the notion of the cliff. It would take only a swift, deft move and she would tumble over the side of the cliff to the jagged rocks below. No one would be the wiser. He could be free. He would be happy the way he deserved to be. Why shouldn’t he have what he wanted just once in his life? After everything he’d been through? The awful nuns at the orphanage. The rapping of his knuckles until they bled. The nights and nights of an empty stomach. The good life should be his now. No matter the cost.