Disclosure_ A Novel - Michael Crichton [78]
He felt all the old sensations, the old stirrings. He clenched his jaw. “Meredith. The past is past. Cut it out, will you?”
She immediately changed her tone and gestured to the street. “Listen, I have a car here. Can I drop you somewhere?”
“No, thanks.”
“It’s raining. I thought you might want a lift.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Only because it’s raining.”
“This is Seattle,” he said. “It rains all the time here.”
She shrugged, walked to the door, and leaned her weight against it, thrusting out her hip. Then she looked back at him and smiled. “Remind me never to wear tights around you. It’s embarrassing: you make me wet.”
Then she turned away, pushed through the door, and walked quickly to the waiting car, getting in the back. She closed the door, looked back at him, and waved cheerfully. The car drove off.
Sanders unclenched his hands. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His whole body was tense. He waited until the car was gone, then went outside. He felt the rain on his face, the cool evening breeze.
He hailed a taxi. “The Four Seasons Hotel,” he said to the driver.
Riding in the taxi, Sanders stared out the window, breathing deeply. He felt as though he couldn’t get his breath. He had been badly unnerved by the meeting with Meredith. Especially coming so close after his conversation with Lewyn.
Sanders was distressed by what Lewyn had said, but you could never take Mark too seriously. Lewyn was an artistic hothead who handled his creative tensions by getting angry. He was angry about something most of the time. Lewyn liked being angry. Sanders had known him a long time. Personally, he had never understood how Adele, Mark’s wife, put up with it. Adele was one of those wonderfully calm, almost phlegmatic women who could talk on the phone while her two kids crawled all over her, tugging at her, asking her questions. In a similar fashion, Adele just let Lewyn rage while she went on about her business. In fact, everyone just let Lewyn rage, because everyone knew that, in the end, it didn’t mean anything.
Yet, it was also true that Lewyn had a kind of instinct for public perceptions and trends. That was the secret of his success as a designer. Lewyn would say, “Pastel colors,” and everybody would groan and say that the new design colors looked like hell. But two years later, when the products were coming off the line, pastel colors would be just what everybody wanted. So Sanders was forced to admit that what Lewyn had said about him, others would soon be saying. Lewyn had said the company line: that Sanders was screwing up the chances for everybody else.
Well, screw them, he thought.
As for Meredith—he had had the distinct feeling that she had been toying with him in the lobby. Teasing him, playing with him. He could not understand why she was so confident. Sanders was making a very serious allegation against her. Yet she behaved as if there was no threat at all. She had a kind of imperviousness, an indifference, that made him deeply uneasy. It could only mean she knew that she had Garvin’s backing.
The taxi pulled into the turnaround of the hotel. He saw Meredith’s car up ahead. She was talking to the driver. She looked back and saw him.
There was nothing to do but get