Part 11 (1/2)

”Well, then. See you,” she said. She was satisfied with the way that had come out, a practiced social indifference to her tone.

Pressing her heels into the horse's ribs, she trotted off past the buildings and toward the hills across the low, golden, gra.s.sy field. She let herself look back. He was still standing there, watching her ride off. She hastily returned her attention to the path.

After Mighty Boy warmed up she pushed him hard, leaning into his powerful gallop. As if testing her will, yesterday's clear, hard thoughts of Matthew's secret plan and of her celebration bowl melted away, and were supplanted by fantasy. Her heart raced, and her mind ran free with raw and fiery images of the provocative Jean-Pierre.

”Thank you, Martin,” Matthew Locke said.

Peter turned to Hank Towers for an explanation for this break in custom; it was he, Peter, who always started the meeting with opening remarks. But Hank's attention, like that of everyone else in the room, had s.h.i.+fted to Matthew. Something was wrong, but before he could speculate, Matthew spoke.

”As we are all aware, Peter and I have been at odds about how this company should be managed.”

Peter threw his pen down on the table. With an audible huff he pushed himself back in his seat with straightened arms. ”What's going on here?”

Matthew ignored this and continued, his eyes roaming from person to person in careful, measured doses.

”Peter and I have very different styles and strategies, which is positioning you, the executive staff and board of directors, in the middle of our discord. The situation isn't healthy for Wallaby.” He let this sink in for a moment while he got up and walked toward a pitcher of water. Slowly he poured himself a gla.s.s.

”Peter,” he started, resting the gla.s.s, ”I've decided to ask the board of directors to accept my resignation - ”

Peter could not believe his ears, and before Matthew had even finished with his explanation Peter was already celebrating inside. Hallelujah! Here he had thought that Matthew was going to propose a reorganization, but instead he was resigning. It was priceless! Maybe, Peter thought, Matthew had realized himself that he was not cut out for high technology, and would be better off going back into the potato chip business, with its bright colored plastic bags, its brainwas.h.i.+ng the public on the virtues of junk food, its pureeing of rotten ingredients -

” - provided,” Matthew continued, ”that they don't approve my recommendation that you relinquish your duties as Wallaby's vice president of Joey, and chairman of the board.”

The room spun. Suddenly, all eyes were fixed on Peter. He blinked, and tried to focus on a single pair, but those glanced away, as did the next pair, and the next. He leaned back in his chair. It squeaked loudly. He looked up at the whiteness of the ceiling for a moment and let his mind drain. Suddenly he understood Matthew's little game. He laughed at the ceiling. For a split second he had actually thought it could somehow be true, that Matthew was going to resign, that that was what Matthew was trying to warn him of, threaten him with yesterday. Such was not the case. Resigning was the farthest thing from Matthew's mind.

The absurdity - proposing that the board give him the boot.

Admittedly, considering the rumors that were flying about a reorganization, he'd been more than a little apprehensive late last night. But upon waking this morning, he'd told himself there was nothing to fear. He was the company's founder, and he wasn't going anywhere - except where he d.a.m.n well pleased. This was preposterous. It was laughable. And he laughed hard and full, his shoulders pitching a little. None of the others joined in the fun.

When he managed to get his laughter under control, he straightened up and placed his clasped hands comfortably in his lap. ”Sorry,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He gave himself a little shake, and blew out an exaggerated breath.

”Forgive me for laughing, Matthew,” he said with a smile, flattening his hand over his heart, ”You had me going there for a second. I thought you were going to make my job easy.”

His smile vanished. ”But I guess you're not. So I'll spell it out for you.” His face was relaxed and smooth, and he spoke coolly.

”Matthew, you're not right for Wallaby anymore,” he said. He let this hang in the air for a few moments. To his way of thinking, as chairman, his decision was already made. Out of courtesy he would explain to Matthew the circ.u.mstances, as a coach would after try-outs to the child who doesn't have what it takes to make the team.

”You did a good job of helping to get the organization in place for managing us through troubled waters. You created a strong sales force, and you did some other good things. I can't remember them all right now, but you did some okay things. However, were you to remain in your position any longer, this company would fail because of your weakness. You have no vision.”

All this time Matthew had remained on his feet. Peter was impressed with how well he was taking it. Let's see, Peter thought, how he handles this part.

Peter opened his leather portfolio, which contained copies of the organizational chart he had prepared yesterday, listing himself as the acting president and CEO. ”I think we can work out a respectable severance package, with full relocation, of course,”

he said, graciously, ”and - ”

”Peter, ” Matthew said, cutting him off.

Oh wonderful, Peter thought, just what he had feared. Matthew was going to beg to stay. Yet he saw no sign of anguish on Matthew's face. Perhaps he was experiencing shock?

”You're a brilliant young man,” Matthew said. ”You've made this industry what it is. Were it not for you, we all know this company could never have been.” His words flowed easily, without tremor.

”You had a dream to make portable computers for individuals, and you created this company out of sheer willpower and brains.