Schmidt Steps Back Read Online Free PDF Page A

wine. Mike doesn’t skimp on quality or quantity.
    He had noted the power of her memory. She forgot nothing—not a single telephone number or date. She would have remembered what he had told her in Paris about Mike’s billions and how they continued multiplying in years when others lost money; his beginnings as an Egyptian Jew whose family had fled Nasser; as well as the work of the foundation at the head of which he had placed Schmidt. As though to prove him right, she reminded him that in Paris, when he regaled her with stories of Mike’s antics, his tone had been acerbic. Had that changed? Yes, he replied. I’ve changed and he has changed. He has been an extraordinarily loyal, close friend. On top of that, I owe him a huge debt of gratitude. Without the foundation job I wouldn’t have made that trip in ninety-five to inspect the foundation’s offices and I wouldn’t have seen you!
    Mike has been twice married and divorced, he continued, but in all the years I’ve known him he hasn’t had an official girlfriend. There is a lady in his life now, but it’s a closely guarded secret. She’s Caroline Canning, a biographer married to a novelist. She and her husband are always there, at all his parties, and even at small, intimate dinners. You’ll surely see them tonight.
    Is the novelist husband Joe Canning? Alice asked hesitantly. He’s one of our authors.
    That’s the one, replied Schmidt. I hadn’t realized he was published in France. Let’s see … who else will be there? Gil and Elaine.
    And we are to have dinner at their house tomorrow.
    Glancing at her sideways, he saw that she was biting her lip.
    After a silence that seemed to him very long, she spoke again. Schmidtie, she said, I’m so worried about all this. We will be opening a wound that’s barely healed.
    No, we won’t, he replied. Please don’t worry. The Blackmans want my good. They want my happiness. They will make you feel welcome. You’ll see.
    He took her hand, kissed it, replaced it on his knee.
    He hadn’t told her, and wasn’t sure that he would ever tell her, that Gil, from whom he had almost no secrets, had pleaded with him not to be undone by the loathsome Popov, the bizarre incident in Water Mill, and the fiasco in London—to hang on to Alice for dear life. She was, Gil had said, his one chance for happiness. Had he listened to him, the wound would have healed long, long ago. But as it was she might take offense, perhaps unconsciously, at Gil’s intrusion into her privacy. He had to be careful not to allow that to happen.
    Slowing down, he turned onto Cobb Road. The rest of the crowd, he added, is hard to predict. Mike claims this will be a small dinner. Two tables of twelve. But Mike is always on the lookout for new best friends. That’s how he picked me up. One might encounter anyone. He has a weird sense of humor and not much regard for what others think, and people can’t resist his billions. It’s like catnip. You’ll see for yourself. And now we’re really there.
    He turned left on Flying Point Road, then right into a driveway, and lowered the window on his side. A guard appeared from the darkness and called out, Good evening, Mr. Schmidt, and Happy New Year to you and the lady. Please drive up to the front door.
    Same to you, Carter, Schmidt shouted back. Carter was a good man. He’d park the car so its nose pointed in the right direction for departure and relieve Schmidt of the need to back out of the long driveway, a sport Schmidt had once thought he excelled at. Now he did his best to avoid it, fearing not so much the pain he felt turning his head the necessary number of degrees as the breakdown it caused in hand-eye coordination.
    A sense of great calm had descended on Schmidt. Alice was seated on Mike’s right, and Gil was on her other side. That Mike had made her the guest of honor was an elegant gesture. He knew less than Gil of his and Alice’s history but had been from the start in favor of the nice