Chapter Six
Claire was right. It was too late to start second-guessing her decision.
As he cleared the table, Nate reminded himself that he was here to sign documents, break the trust and leave with the minimum of involvement. It was a covert op—in and out and no harm done to himself or anyone else.
Their first appointment was with the estate agent negotiating the sale of Claire’s home.
“So, Nate, it’s great to have you home at last.” Adam Scott pumped Nate’s arm in an enthusiastic handshake. “I’m sure we’re all keen to play our part in delivering Claire’s dream.”
Politely, Nate freed his grip. “And how’s your part progressing, Adam?” They were here to view a formal offer from the buyers.
“I’m glad you asked that, Nate.” Gesturing to a seat in the client’s private meeting room, the young agent refocused his inclusive smile on Claire and some of the phoniness went out of it. She’d dressed in a smoky-gray pantsuit and looked beautiful even though Nate’s new expertise suggested the style was at least four seasons out of date. He wondered when she’d last bought herself new clothes…and whether she could afford to.
Adam opened a manila folder and steepled his hands over it. Nate half expected him to say, “For what we’re about to receive, make us truly thankful.” “The offer’s a little lower than we were expecting, Claire,” he said earnestly, “and I accept full responsibility for raising your hopes too high. But they were so enthusiastic when they viewed…what was it, three times?” He passed her the document.
She looked at it and grimaced. “A little? This is twenty thousand under the asking price.”
“I’m sure they’re expecting a counter.” Adam included Nate in his reassurances. “Another five or six grand and I think we’ve got them.”
“Five or six,” she echoed, dismayed.
“For a quick sale and a cash buyer in a stagnant market.”
As she eyed the figure again, Nate pictured Venice Beach, fixed it firmly in his mind and kept his mouth shut.
“My price already reflected the fact that we’re at the bottom of a housing slump.” Closing the folder, Claire returned it to Adam. “You said yourself, the market’s picking up again.
Which means if I wait another six months then I’m bound to receive a better offer?”
Good call. Nate relaxed his shoulders. Even if it was a bluff.
Adam smiled, knowing it too. “But no one can forecast these things with any surety, Claire,” he cautioned. “And you need the money now, don’t you?”
Never give a commission-driven salesman too much information. It became emotional ammo. Nate tensed for Claire’s reply.
“Which is why it’s so important,” she countered, “that I decide my bottom line.” She turned to Nate. “I’m beginning to warm to your idea.” She didn’t mean it; the glint in her eyes told him it was a tactical move, but he answered her seriously.
“You know that’s my preference.”
The agent’s nostrils flared. “What idea?”
“Nate suggested I rent out the property and accept an interim loan from him until the business starts turning a profit.”
Adam was on his feet before she’d finished the sentence and pulling his cell out of his jacket. “Hey, let’s not write off these buyers just yet,” he suggested with a pained smile. “I’m sure there’s more fat in this. I’ll go call them.”
Nate waited until the agent left the meeting room. “Maybe this is a sign.” There was a lot on the line here. Her financial future. Lewis’s. She was sinking everything into the project. And if the charter business failed in two, three years? Then what? No assets, except the boat and the bach, which Claire had admitted she’d never sell. Steve had spent years chipping away at the mortgage to make sure his wife had equity in the house to fall back on if anything happened to him. “Rent out the house. Keep an escape route open. It’s what Steve would do.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Steve’s not here.”
“That wasn’t his choice, Claire.”
“Every time a soldier’s deployed, he implicitly accepts the possibility of death.”
What was he missing here? Nate swallowed. “Believe me, our entire focus is on completing our mission and coming home alive.”
“But the choice to risk your life is yours. The people who love you can only choose to wait.” She turned her attention to the documents in her lap. Her long hair swung forward, obscuring her profile. “Do you understand how much that passivity costs us?”
As he stared at her, baffled, Adam bustled into the room. “They’ll go up to five hundred and ninety thousand, final offer. That leaves you only ten short of the asking price.”
“Minus your commission,” Nate said before Claire could react. “What is that exactly, Adam?”
“Industry average, Nate.”
“Three percent on the first three thousand dollars,” Claire read from the document in her lap. “Two percent on amounts above that.”
“So we’re talking around fifteen thousand,” Nate told her, “which leaves you five hundred and seventy-five thousand. Then you have to deduct the mortgage…” He waited for her to do the math. “My interest on a loan would be at mate’s rates.”
She saw where he was going with this and obligingly pulled a face.
Adam glanced between them. “Let me ask my boss if there’s wiggle room on our commission,” he suggested.
“Thanks,” she said when the door closed behind him. “Every dollar counts.”
“Which is why you need to be sure about this, Claire.”
“Hey, what’s the worst that can happen?” she said lightly. “If I spend all my savings and the venture fails I’ll just sell the boat and get a real job.”
He frowned. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”
“It’s only money, Nate. Compared with losing Steve…” She forced a smile. “I need to do something a little scary, something that excites me. I feel like I’ve simply been existing since Steve’s death. And frankly it’s time my son had a better role model. I want Lewis to remember how we used to be before his father died.”
His misgivings grew, but the door flew open before he could articulate them.
“Good news,” Adam announced. “We’ll knock four grand off the commission.”
“That’s great.” Delighted, Clare stood to hug him. “Thank you.”
Adam ducked his head. “Hey, that’s why we’re here, Claire, to deliver the dream.”
Shit, thought Nate. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Claire bent to hug him too, her hair a fragrant fall against his cheek. “Kudos, partner,” she murmured.
Adam picked up the discarded folder and sat at his desk, his gold-plated pen slashing through the text as he made amendments. He misread Nate’s disquiet.
“Don’t worry, it’s still legal as long as you initial the changes. So give me your autographs, guys, and I’ll it rush over to the buyers for countersigning.”
Claire scrawled her signature with a flourish, and then handed the pen to Nate. He leaned forward. Hesitated. “Why aren’t you using the education fund provided by the SAS?”
She blinked. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“The fund’s specifically set up to assist the families of its fallen. Why aren’t you asking for help with Lewis’s private-school fees?” Claire had pride but, she was also a pragmatist—unless she wasn’t thinking clearly.
“Nate, can we concentrate on the matter at hand and talk about this later?”
He returned his gaze to the document. He’d always felt protective of her, ever since he’d caught her in a private moment of anguish after farewelling Steve. It had been years earlier. He and the guys had been staying at the Langfords’ bach when they’d got an urgent call-up. Piling into Dan’s ute, Nate realized he’d left some trainers behind. When he’d returned to the bach, Claire had been in the living room sobbing over her sleeping son’s cot. He’d stood transfixed. Claire—who’d hugged her husband goodbye so calmly minutes earlier—in pieces. And become crashingly aware that war wasn’t an adventure to everybody.
That some people had more to lose than he did.
He’d backed away unseen and returned to the ute. As it accelerated away, he looked at Steve, grim and taciturn beside him, while Ross and Dan traded jokes in the front. Their gazes met and his mate had shrugged, a curious helplessness in his eyes that Nate never saw again.
Until the moment Steve realized he was about to die.
Nate stared at the pen, immobile on the white paper. Just do it. Sign and get the hell out of here. Save yourself. Yeah, you’re good at that.
“Something wrong, Nate?” said Adam.
“I’m reading the fine print.”
“No need,” Claire reassured him. “I did that on the original sales agreement.”
Of course she had. She was a smart woman who’d done her homework. Even a cursory glance at the reports told him that. But…Nate hadn’t seen the boat, hadn’t ensured Heaven Sent was fit for her new purpose. This morning, before Claire had woken, he’d taken the boat shed key off its hook then thought, Why put yourself through this? You don’t need to be involved. Claire knows what she’s doing.
His grip tightened on the pen.
Except, she’d said she wanted to feel again. Sometimes you did things you shouldn’t to escape the numbness.
He put down the pen. “I can’t do this.”
“Why not?” she said, sounding bewildered.
“Because Steve would want me to ensure this is in your best interests first.”
“But your involvement as a trustee was nominal when Steve was alive.” She was trying to be reasonable, but her eyes were flinty…the Viking close to the surface. “It was only ever a way to protect our assets while Ellie established her lingerie business.”
“You didn’t just pull my name out of a hat, either,” Nate reminded Claire. “You chose me…. Not Ross, not Dan or any of your other friends. You trusted me.”
“And you’ve been AWOL for months,” she retorted, losing patience. “Why poke your nose in now?”
“Because you’ve got no one else looking out for you.” You haven’t let anyone else in. “Because taking a risk to feel something again isn’t the basis for a business decision.”
“Would a cappuccino help?” Adam asked nervously.
“That was a throwaway comment,” Claire said to Nate.
“The most revealing ones are. Why aren’t you accepting support from the SAS trust?”
She ignored the question. “The reports are sound, aren’t they?”
“From the little I’ve read, yes.”
“The forecasts, the risk analysis.”
“Again, from the little I’ve read—yes. But you haven’t talked about this to anyone outside the people with vested interests. No offense, Adam, I appreciate your generosity in taking a drop in commission.”
“You’re welco—”
Claire slammed her hand on the desk. “You can’t do this.”
“Actually, I can. Give me the trust document.”
Reluctantly she passed it over.
He’d scanned it on the drive to Whangarei and put it aside, blaming his nausea on reading in a moving car. Now Nate flicked through the pages to the text he’d tried to block from his mind. “‘The trustee must act in the best interests of the beneficiaries,’” he read out. “‘Before making decisions, the trustee must acquaint themselves with all the relevant facts and consider expert advice.’”
Nate held up a hand as Adam started to interject. “‘Then the trustee must turn their own minds to the question in hand, acting honestly and in good faith.’” Steve could have been looking over his shoulder as he read, his presence was so powerful. “‘The trustee is not permitted to delegate their decision-making power.’”
He raised his head and looked at Claire’s furious face. She hated him right now but that couldn’t matter. Nate’s need to protect her countered even his own deep desire to run. Who said atonement was easy? Thou shalt not walk away…. Not this time.
“I’m a selfish, inconsiderate asshole who let you down for months,” he said, “then added insult to injury by dragging my heels all the way home.” He took a deep breath. “But Steve would haunt me even more than he does now, if I don’t do my job, Claire. All we’re talking is another week at most, that—”
She cut him off. “I wish to God I’d left you in L.A.” By the agent’s expression, Adam wished she had, too.
“Give us a minute to talk privately, will you, mate?”
“But don’t go far,” Claire reassured him, glaring at Nate. “I’ll sort this.”
Once Adam left the room. Claire paced the floor. Nate waited, hands held loosely in his lap, his mind resolved. She swung to face him.
“For a decade I shared my husband with the SAS. Whenever he wasn’t with his family, he was with his unit. You and the guys probably spent as much quality time with him as Lewie and I did.”
He had no idea where she was going with this.
“I never stood in Steve’s way once, Nate, and you know why? Because the SAS was his dream. Because he believed in duty and service and honor and so did I.” Her tortured gaze pinned his. “Did you know he wasn’t even supposed to be on that tour?”
His stunned shock must have answered her question.
“So he didn’t tell you about our agreement.” Her mouth twisting, Claire sat down again. “When Steve was selected for the SAS, he made me a promise. ‘Ten years, Claire, and then it’s our time—yours, mine and Lewis’s. We’ll have the other baby you want. We’ll be a normal family. I’ll be around weekends.’” Her voice cracked. “‘I’ll be safe.’”
Ah, God, he began to understand.
Claire’s eyes filled with tears; impatiently she knuckled them away. “He promised me, Nate. And I’m so angry at him for not honoring his side of the deal. I’m angry at him for leaving his son to grow up without a father. I’m angry because I want to say all this to my husband and I can’t. I want to forgive him, but all the good feelings are tangled up with the bad feelings and I have no clarity on my life with Steve anymore. In some ways that’s the worst loss of all.”
Nate found his voice. “You had a great marriage.”
“Did we?” Claire dropped her head in her hands. “Or did we have a marriage in waiting?”
“He loved you,” he said passionately. “It tore him up to leave you and Lewis.”
She raised her head. “You asked why I didn’t accept a stipend from the SAS trust. Because I’d rather hate them than hate Steve.”
“Claire,” he croaked.
“You asked me to be honest,” she reminded him. “Deal with it. I don’t want to be Steve’s widow. I don’t want to be a single parent. I don’t want to plan a future without him. But I have to, for Lewis’s sake. And mine. Don’t drag this out. Sign the papers. For God’s sake, let me get on with my life.”
“You might not feel like you were his first priority, but you were. I swear, as soon I’ve assessed the risks—”
“Go to hell.” Pale with anger, she opened the door, and Adam nearly fell in. “Don’t listen to this man,” she instructed. “I’m going to the lawyer’s to get him fired. Then I’m coming back.” She glared at Nate. “Don’t be here. In fact, I want your stuff out of the bach when I return.”
“I have no transport,” he reminded her, though he suspected she was beyond reasoning with. Her next words confirmed it.
“So walk.”
* * *
Claire stormed out of the estate agency and into the high street, eighteen months of unexpressed rage boiling through her veins. And God, it felt so good. So good to rip off the mantle of long-suffering widow, meekly accepting her husband’s fate because he’d died for his country. A good cause. Ha!
Well, what about my cause? What about Lewis’s cause? Did you ever think of how your son would suffer if you died, you selfish bastard?
It was freeing to have this anger in the open, anger she’d suppressed for so long because it was wrong to speak ill of the dead, wrong to rail at the man she’d so loved.
But as she stabbed the unlock button on her car-key remote, Claire experienced the righteousness of rage. To hell with acceptance, to hell with stoicism, she wanted to slash and burn. Some tiny part of her brain knew this would wear off, but for now the brutal honesty was liberating, heady.
She got in the driver’s seat and slammed the door. “At least you made it easy,” she yelled in the confines of her car. “I spent half our married life alone while you were on deployment.” It was like having a boil lanced; all the poison releasing in one toxic ooze.
Revving the engine, she made an illegal U-turn and accelerated in the direction of her lawyer’s office. She would never tie her life to a man’s again. Never. They only let you down.
The lights turned red and she slammed on her brakes.
As for Nate…
She couldn’t even articulate her thoughts where Nate was concerned, there was just a welling of murderous impulses. If she saw him again, she’d hit him. Swear to God. When the lights turned green, Claire burned rubber. “Now he has a conscience,” she sneered. “Now he’s concerned about our well-being.”
Ahead, a young woman with a pram waited at a pedestrian crossing. Reluctantly Claire pulled to a stop. Different if Nate had been there for her, after Steve died, when she needed him. Needed his empathy, needing that mutual understanding they’d always shared. Of all the times to resurrect that Nate, he had to choose now. “And after helping me get the best price for the house, too. I mean, what the hell was that?” The crossing clear, she accelerated again. Some imagined command from on high from his dead buddy and never mind her wishes. She could have screamed.
“I don’t forgive you,” she said aloud to Steve. “You hear me? I don’t forgive you. Live with it.” She registered her words and suffered a pang of loss so sharp that she had to drop one hand from the steering wheel and press it against her breast.
You did say you wanted to feel.