She surveyed the vast, empty, great room in which they stood. "Are you offering me the job for real?"
"Why not?" Nick walked to the bank of windows that overlooked the city. He kept his back to Zinnia as he gazed into the late evening sun that was sinking swiftly into the bay. "Nothing says we can't continue on with our partnership after we finish this business with the journal."
"I'll think about it."
"You do that."
He was serious, she thought. "This house is very important to you, isn't it?"
"It's my future," he said simply.
"What about your past?"
"My past is the casino. I'm going to sell it."
That startled her. "Why?"
"It's part of my plan."
"Your plan to buy respectability, you mean?"
"I told you, I only got into the gambling business because it was a way to make a lot of money." Nick turned slowly around to face her. "I've invested the profits in a variety of places during the past three years. Stocks and bonds. Western Islands shipping. I've provided some venture capital for some new businesses that have gone big. The usual."
"All very respectable."
His smile held cold satisfaction. "Exactly. My children will have all the benefits of respectability. They won't have to live with gossip and sly glances. My daughters will never face humiliation at society's hands. My sons won't know what it is to have the doors of opportunity closed in their faces simply because they can't claim a socially acceptable family."
"You mean they won't have to struggle the way you did?" she asked softly.
His eyes were fierce with unshakable determination. "I will make certain that they don't have to go through what I did to achieve success. My family will have every advantage I can give them."
"I see." She was suddenly aware of a slight chill in the room. She folded her arms beneath her breasts. "Tell me, what's the rest of this grand plan? How do you go about buying respectability?"
"Simple. You purchase a membership in the Founders' Club and attend its annual charity ball." He broke off. A look of speculation appeared in his gaze. "Which just happens to take place in a few days."
"Yes, I know. Go on. What else do you do to get respectable?"
He shrugged. "You give big bucks to the New Seattle Art Museum and to the Theater Guild. You contribute to the right political campaigns. You buy a house like this one and you pay someone who knows what she's doing to restore it."
"And you marry into the right family," Zinnia concluded.
"That's about it. Like I said, all you need is money and a plan. I've got both."
She looked into his eyes for a long time. He did not look away. "I wish you luck," she said, meaning every word.
"Luck has nothing to do with it."
"Of course." She managed a bright professional smile. "Well, this is supposed to be a business dinner, so let's do some business, partner. I wanted to ask you how you knew for certain that the journal Polly and Omar sold you was a fraud."
He eyed her thoughtfully for a long moment. "I'll show you after we eat." He walked to the picnic hamper and opened it.
She watched curiously as he spread a blanket on the floor and began to unpack a variety of tempting packages. He arranged a pate, a cold pasta salad, tiny sandwiches, fruit, and a tart on top of the hamper.
"I'm impressed." She walked to the blanket and sat down, curling her legs beneath her gauzy dress. "Did you make all this?"
"What do you think?" Nick lit the two jelly-ice candles that he had taken from the hamper.
Zinnia sampled a tiny sandwich and grinned. "I think you hired an excellent chef."
"The best. Rathbone. Formerly of the Founders' Club. He supervises the dining rooms at the Palace."
"Lucky you."
Nick looked up from pouring the wine. "I keep telling you, luck is not a factor."
"Spoken like a true matrix."
Zinnia was amazed at how quickly the next hour slipped past. By the time she and Nick had polished off the outrageously expensive bottle of blue wine and eaten the last bit of the flaky pear-berry pastry, night had descended. The twin moons, Yakima and Chelan, rose above the horizon and cast a golden glow over the bay. The light of the two jelly-ice candles flickered warmly.
"Now I'll show you how I knew the journal was a fraud." Nick pulled another package out of the hamper.
Zinnia recognized it. "That's the fake that Polly and Omar sold to you."
"Yes." He unwrapped the brown paper and put the volume down on the blanket. Then he reached back into the hamper and removed a faded envelope.
"What's that?"
"The letter my father wrote to my mother the night before the Third Expedition left for uncharted territory."
She stared at him with mingled disbelief and excitement. "You've got a letter?"
"Yes. After Andy died I went through his old storeroom and found it. My mother must have hidden it there all those years ago before she left for Serendipity. I think she may have sensed that it was valuable. It refers to the fact that the expedition was preparing to leave on schedule. My father was looking forward to it. He was focused on the future. He was not talking of suicide."
"My God, Nick. No wonder you've been so sure that the expedition actually took place. Why didn't you tell anyone?"
He looked up, his eyes very cold. "Because someone went to a hell of a lot of trouble to make it appear that it didn't take place. Until I know why, I'm not going to reveal the existence of this letter. It's the only hard evidence I've got."
She watched as Nick carefully, reverently unfolded the letter. It occurred to her that the handwritten note was probably the only link he had with his mother and father. Another wave of empathy went through her.
"I take it you did a handwriting analysis?" she asked, struggling to sound businesslike. Nick would not appreciate it if she started crying, she thought.
"Yes. With the aid of my talent. I have some control over it when I use it in short bursts." He opened the journal and placed it next to the letter. "Take a look."
She peered at the bold firm handwriting on the first page of the journal and then glanced at the letter. "It looks identical to me."
"It's a very good forgery. But give me a prism and then take another look."
Zinnia hesitated, remembering the strong sense of intimacy she experienced whenever she held the focus for him. But she'd heard that one of the side effects of focusing with a strong talent was that a prism could observe a small portion of what the talent sensed. She was just curious enough now to risk the connection.
"All right." She braced herself.
She didn't have long to wait. Waves of power surged toward the prism she projected onto the metaphysical plane. They crashed through the glittering lens and emerged as controlled energy on the other side.
A feeling of intense intimacy swept through her. But it did not jolt her this time. It was becoming familiar, she thought. Comfortable. Right.
Not good.
"Ready?" Nick watched her face.
"Sure. Go ahead. Show me." It annoyed her that he seemed oblivious to the personal nature of their link. Perhaps he felt nothing.
"Look at the handwriting on the letter," Nick instructed.
She looked down at the note. The candlelight created intricate patterns of shadows as it illuminated the single sheet of paper.
My dearest Sally:
I'm writing this from Serendipity, our jumping-off point. The six of us leave at dawn. This is the last time I'll have a means of sending a letter until we return in three months. It's late but I can't sleep. I should be going over the details of our plans but I'm thinking of you, instead. I'll miss your laughter and your warmth and all that we have found together. You cannot know how important you are to me. When I'm with you, I am no longer alone. And now that I know you're carrying my baby, I feel as if I've finally found my future.