Past perfect : a novel
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- ISBN: 9781101883976
- ISBN: 1101883979
-
Physical Description:
print
282 pages ; 25 cm - Edition: First edition.
- Publisher: New York : Delacorte Press, [2017]
- Copyright: ©2017
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Past Perfect
A Novel
By Danielle Steel
Random House Publishing Group
Copyright © 2017 Danielle Steel
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-101-88397-6All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
Blake Gregory sat looking out his office window in New York, pondering the offer he had just been made to be the CEO of a new high-Âtech social media start-Âup in San Francisco. Heâd had other offers before, in Boston and other cities, though none as enticing as this one, and heâd turned them down without hesitation. But this was different, it had several exciting twists. The companyâs founders were two young men with golden track records who had made vast fortunes with their earlier ventures. As a result they had plenty of money to invest in their new start-Âup. Their previous companies had been based on simple concepts, and so was this one, combining the principles of a search engine with social media, and the potential growth rate was astronomical.
Blake was in high-Âtech venture capital, with an established, extremely respected firm. But the idea they had outlined made sense to him, and even made him want to join their team, although he had done well where he was, and a new company was never certain to succeed. But if it worked, he could see it making billions. There were possible pitfalls involved, but he thought they could be overcome in the developmental stage. The offer had come out of the blue, based on some business contacts he had and his professional reputation as a smart, forward-Âthinking analyst of new ventures, highly adept at assessing risk and how to get around it to create a successful business. They were offering him twice what he was making at the firm where he worked in New York. His future was secure where he was now, and he had been there for ten years and liked his co-Âworkers. Everything was unknown about the situation at the start-Âup in San Francisco, including how heâd like the people heâd be working for. He knew they were gutsy, brilliant, and ruthless, and they always made big money. It was so damn tempting, although he wasnât usually a risk taker. But the money was appealing, and so was the stock heâd own in the company when they went public, which was their goal.
It made him feel young again, thinking about doing something new and different. At forty-Âsix, he had been on a safe, predictable path for a long time. Married, with three kids, he wasnât one to throw caution to the wind. He couldnât even imagine what his wife, Sybil, would say if he told her. They were both inveterate New Yorkers, loved the city, and had grown up there, as their kids had. Blake had never considered taking a job in another city, but he was now. If the start-Âup succeeded, he could make a fortune. It was going to be hard to turn down.
Sybil was thirty-Ânine years old, and had had a diversified career. She had been an art history major at Columbia, which was where she had met Blake, while he was at business school getting his MBA. She had been passionate about Frank Lloyd Wright, I. M. Pei, Frank Gehry, and all the avant-Âgarde architects of modern times. She had gone back to Columbia to study architecture, after she married Blake and had kids, and then changed direction to pursue interior design, and had become a consultant to high-Âend furniture design firms, and she had created several pieces herself that had become iconic. She was a regular consultant to both MoMA and the Brooklyn Museum, advising them about their acquisitions of important pieces for their permanent collections, and curating shows for them. Everything she touched had a sleek, streamlined look to it, and in her nonexistent spare time, she was working on a book about the best of twentieth-Âcentury interior design, and her publisher was clamoring for it.
Blake was certain her book would be a success. She was a thorough, thoughtful writer, about the subjects she knew best. She wrote frequent articles for important interior design magazines and the New York Times design section, and was considered an expert in her field. Her personal favorite was mid-Âcentury modern, and anything designed earlier than 1950 was of less interest to her, but she wrote about all of it. As a result, their two-Âstory Tribeca loft apartment on North Moore, in an old textile warehouse, looked like the modern wing of a great museum. Every important designer was represented with pieces that could instantly be attributed to them by any expert. Sybil was, above all, very talented herself, and had a way of picking decisively what was new and chic. Blake didnât always understand it, but readily admitted he liked the effect.
Sybil had a respect for other periods and enjoyed exhibits at the Metropolitan Museum, and they both loved the archaic turn-Âof-Âthe-Âcentury elegance of the Frick Collection, but what made Sybilâs heart beat faster, what she was drawn to and created, was anything at the outer, forward edge of design. Their own apartment had a coolness to it, and a spare airy feeling. She had designed some of the furniture herself from a line she had created. Museums around the country asked her to curate exhibits for them. She almost never took on private decorating clients anymore, because she didnât want to be limited by other peopleâs ideas and tastes. And the hub of all her creative activities was New York. Blake didnât think it would be fair to ask her to move to San Francisco for him. Normally he wouldnât have considered it, but the job heâd been offered was a once-Âin-Âa-Âlifetime opportunity. He wondered if he could do it for a couple of years, but if the business was a success, heâd want to stay longer.
His kids wouldnât welcome a move either. The offer in San Francisco had come the first week of school. Andrew had just started his senior year of high school, and would be applying to college that fall. Caroline was a junior, and firmly embedded in her life in New York. The prospect of moving at sixteen and seventeen would horrify them both. Only Charlie, their six-Âyear-Âold, wouldnât care where they lived, as long as he was with them. He had just started first grade.
Sybil was in Philadelphia for the day, consulting with a museum about a show they wanted her to curate in two years. He didnât know if heâd tell her about the offer or even whether he should. Why upset her about a job he wasnât going to take? But they wanted him to go to San Francisco and see them that week to discuss it further, and he was sorely tempted to. Theyâd been incredibly persistent. It was Monday, and he had already figured out that he could get away on Wednesday afternoon, and had moved some meetings to do it.
He was distracted, thinking about it, when Sybil walked in to their apartment that night, her long blond hair pulled back tightly in a bun, and wearing a very severe but chic black suit. She looked every inch a New Yorker, and always did. She was a beautiful woman, and their daughter had her tall, lean, classic appearance. Both boys resembled Blake more clearly, with dark hair, dark eyes, and all-ÂAmerican athletic bodies. They loved sports and were good athletes.
âHowâd it go?â Blake asked, as she smiled at him, put down her bag, and took off her shoes. It was a hot Indian summer day, and sheâd left the house at six a.m. to catch the train and be in Philadelphia in time for her meeting. Their housekeeper had picked Charlie up at school, Caroline and Andy took the subway home at different hours. One of the things Sybil liked about her eclectic work life was her flexible schedule, so she could usually pick Charlie up. Charlie had come as a surprise to both of them, but after the initial shock and adjustment, theyâd agreed that he was one of the best things that had ever happened to them. He was their easiest, most loving child, and always happy whatever he was doing. Both his older siblings enjoyed spending time with him too.
Two of the children were in their rooms by the time Sybil got home from Philadelphia. Andy and Caroline were doing homework, and Charlie was watching a movie on the flat-Âscreen TV in his parentsâ room. The children had had dinner, but Blake had waited for her. He followed her into the kitchen as she put out a salad and some cold chicken the housekeeper had left for them.
âI donât think Iâm going to curate their show,â she said as he poured her a glass of wine. âItâs coming over from Denmark. They really donât need me to curate it, it looks incomplete to me, and they donât want me adding to it. Itâs been put together by a prestigious museum, so they want to keep it as it is. Itâs not for me.â She turned down many of the opportunities she was offered. She was a purist about her work, and the periods and designers that interested her. âBesides, I need time to work on my book. I want to finish it in the next year.â Sheâd been working on it for two years. It was going to be almost a textbook of the best of modern design. âHow was your day?â She looked at him with a smile. They liked meeting up in the evenings to share what theyâd each done.
âFine. Iâm going to San Francisco on Wednesday,â he blurted out, realizing that he sounded insane. He looked startled himself, and had intended to introduce the subject more gracefully, but his nervousness about telling her had taken the upper hand.
âA new deal out there?â she asked and sipped her wine. He hesitated for a long moment, not sure what to say. And then he sighed and sat back in his chair. He never kept secrets from her. They were a team, and one that still worked well after eighteen years of marriage. There were few surprises in their life, and they both liked it that way. And they were still in love after almost two decades.
âI got an offer from a terrific start-Âup in San Francisco today,â he said in a low voice.
âYouâre going to turn them down?â She knew the answer to the question, but asked anyway. He always did. He was content where he was, or so she thought.
âThis oneâs different. Theyâre putting a lot of money into it, the two guys starting it have an impeccable reputation, and itâs going to work and make everyone involved a fortune.â He seemed certain. She looked at him as he said it, and set her fork down on her plate.
âBut itâs in San Francisco.â She might as well have said it was on Mars or Pluto. California was not part of their universe.
âI know, but theyâre offering me twice what Iâm making now and great stock options. If they win big with it, weâll be set for life.â They both made a good living. They led a comfortable life, and had everything they wanted, and so did their kids. And neither of them had ever aspired to those leagues. âIâm not saying Iâd make billions, but there is some very big money to be made on this deal, Syb. Itâs not easy to turn down.â
âWe canât move to San Francisco,â she said simply. âI canât, you canât, and we canât do that to the kids. Andrew is graduating this year.â Blake knew that all too well. He had thought of it all afternoon, with severe pangs of guilt for even considering the offer and not turning it down flat. He felt like the traitor in their midst.
âIâd like to just take a look so I can see what Iâm declining,â he said, knowing it was a poor excuse to go out there. And she knew it too.
âWhat if you donât want to turn it down?â she asked, looking worried.
âIâll have to, but I should at least listen to them.â He knew that at forty-Âsix, he wasnât going to get another offer like this one, and that if he didnât take it, heâd probably stay where he was for the rest of his career. There was nothing wrong with that, and his current job was respectable, but he wanted to be absolutely certain that declining it was the right thing to do, before he did.
âThis sounds ominous,â Sybil said, as she put their dishes in the sink.
âIâm not saying Iâll take it, Syb. I just want to have a look. Maybe I could do it for a couple of years,â he said, trying to find a solution to a problem she didnât want them to have.
âThey wonât let you do that. And we need to let Caro and Andy finish school here for the next two years.â He knew that declining the start-Âup in San Francisco was probably a sacrifice he would have to make, but it was harder than heâd expected it to be.
âIâll just be out there Wednesday to Friday, and back on the weekend,â he said quietly, but there was a look in his eye sheâd never seen before and didnât like. He was thinking of himself and not of them.
âWhy am I not reassured? You canât be serious about this, Blake.â Her mouth was set in a thin line and she looked tense.
âIt could set us up for the future. Iâm never going to make that kind of money here.â
âWe donât need more than what we have,â she said firmly. âWe have a great apartment and a good life.â She had never been greedy and was satisfied with what they both made.
âThis isnât just about money. Itâs exciting to be part of something new. This could be groundbreaking. Iâm sorry, Syb. I just want to check it out. Do you hate me for that?â He loved her and didnât want to screw up their marriage, but he knew it would gnaw at him forever if he didnât talk to the people in San Francisco now. He had promised to fly out before asking her.
âI couldnât hate you .?.?. except if you move us out of New York,â she said and laughed. She wasnât angry at him, but she was afraid. âJust promise me you wonât go crazy out there and accept the job before we talk.â
âOf course not.â He put an arm around her and they found Charlie asleep on their bed with the TV on when they walked into their bedroom. Blake carried him to his own room, Sybil changed him into his pajamas, and he never woke up.
They said good night to Caroline and Andy, and after they turned off the lights, Sybil lay in bed, thinking about what Blake had said. She hoped this was just one of those moments when an idea looks enticing for a few minutes and then reality sets in, and you know itâs not for you. She couldnât see any of them living in San Francisco, and didnât want to. And even if the job sounded exciting to him now, she was sure theyâd all be miserable if they left New York for him. It was the last thing she wanted to do, even for the man she loved. They couldnât do it to their kids. And she didnât want a bicoastal marriage, where they flew to see each other on weekends. There was just no way it could work for them. Their life in New York was perfect the way it was. Blake agreed with her, but the opportunity heâd been offered in San Francisco was one of a kind.
Blake Gregory sat looking out his office window in New York, pondering the offer he had just been made to be the CEO of a new high-Âtech social media start-Âup in San Francisco. Heâd had other offers before, in Boston and other cities, though none as enticing as this one, and heâd turned them down without hesitation. But this was different, it had several exciting twists. The companyâs founders were two young men with golden track records who had made vast fortunes with their earlier ventures. As a result they had plenty of money to invest in their new start-Âup. Their previous companies had been based on simple concepts, and so was this one, combining the principles of a search engine with social media, and the potential growth rate was astronomical.
Blake was in high-Âtech venture capital, with an established, extremely respected firm. But the idea they had outlined made sense to him, and even made him want to join their team, although he had done well where he was, and a new company was never certain to succeed. But if it worked, he could see it making billions. There were possible pitfalls involved, but he thought they could be overcome in the developmental stage. The offer had come out of the blue, based on some business contacts he had and his professional reputation as a smart, forward-Âthinking analyst of new ventures, highly adept at assessing risk and how to get around it to create a successful business. They were offering him twice what he was making at the firm where he worked in New York. His future was secure where he was now, and he had been there for ten years and liked his co-Âworkers. Everything was unknown about the situation at the start-Âup in San Francisco, including how heâd like the people heâd be working for. He knew they were gutsy, brilliant, and ruthless, and they always made big money. It was so damn tempting, although he wasnât usually a risk taker. But the money was appealing, and so was the stock heâd own in the company when they went public, which was their goal.
It made him feel young again, thinking about doing something new and different. At forty-Âsix, he had been on a safe, predictable path for a long time. Married, with three kids, he wasnât one to throw caution to the wind. He couldnât even imagine what his wife, Sybil, would say if he told her. They were both inveterate New Yorkers, loved the city, and had grown up there, as their kids had. Blake had never considered taking a job in another city, but he was now. If the start-Âup succeeded, he could make a fortune. It was going to be hard to turn down.
Sybil was thirty-Ânine years old, and had had a diversified career. She had been an art history major at Columbia, which was where she had met Blake, while he was at business school getting his MBA. She had been passionate about Frank Lloyd Wright, I. M. Pei, Frank Gehry, and all the avant-Âgarde architects of modern times. She had gone back to Columbia to study architecture, after she married Blake and had kids, and then changed direction to pursue interior design, and had become a consultant to high-Âend furniture design firms, and she had created several pieces herself that had become iconic. She was a regular consultant to both MoMA and the Brooklyn Museum, advising them about their acquisitions of important pieces for their permanent collections, and curating shows for them. Everything she touched had a sleek, streamlined look to it, and in her nonexistent spare time, she was working on a book about the best of twentieth-Âcentury interior design, and her publisher was clamoring for it.
Blake was certain her book would be a success. She was a thorough, thoughtful writer, about the subjects she knew best. She wrote frequent articles for important interior design magazines and the New York Times design section, and was considered an expert in her field. Her personal favorite was mid-Âcentury modern, and anything designed earlier than 1950 was of less interest to her, but she wrote about all of it. As a result, their two-Âstory Tribeca loft apartment on North Moore, in an old textile warehouse, looked like the modern wing of a great museum. Every important designer was represented with pieces that could instantly be attributed to them by any expert. Sybil was, above all, very talented herself, and had a way of picking decisively what was new and chic. Blake didnât always understand it, but readily admitted he liked the effect.
Sybil had a respect for other periods and enjoyed exhibits at the Metropolitan Museum, and they both loved the archaic turn-Âof-Âthe-Âcentury elegance of the Frick Collection, but what made Sybilâs heart beat faster, what she was drawn to and created, was anything at the outer, forward edge of design. Their own apartment had a coolness to it, and a spare airy feeling. She had designed some of the furniture herself from a line she had created. Museums around the country asked her to curate exhibits for them. She almost never took on private decorating clients anymore, because she didnât want to be limited by other peopleâs ideas and tastes. And the hub of all her creative activities was New York. Blake didnât think it would be fair to ask her to move to San Francisco for him. Normally he wouldnât have considered it, but the job heâd been offered was a once-Âin-Âa-Âlifetime opportunity. He wondered if he could do it for a couple of years, but if the business was a success, heâd want to stay longer.
His kids wouldnât welcome a move either. The offer in San Francisco had come the first week of school. Andrew had just started his senior year of high school, and would be applying to college that fall. Caroline was a junior, and firmly embedded in her life in New York. The prospect of moving at sixteen and seventeen would horrify them both. Only Charlie, their six-Âyear-Âold, wouldnât care where they lived, as long as he was with them. He had just started first grade.
Sybil was in Philadelphia for the day, consulting with a museum about a show they wanted her to curate in two years. He didnât know if heâd tell her about the offer or even whether he should. Why upset her about a job he wasnât going to take? But they wanted him to go to San Francisco and see them that week to discuss it further, and he was sorely tempted to. Theyâd been incredibly persistent. It was Monday, and he had already figured out that he could get away on Wednesday afternoon, and had moved some meetings to do it.
He was distracted, thinking about it, when Sybil walked in to their apartment that night, her long blond hair pulled back tightly in a bun, and wearing a very severe but chic black suit. She looked every inch a New Yorker, and always did. She was a beautiful woman, and their daughter had her tall, lean, classic appearance. Both boys resembled Blake more clearly, with dark hair, dark eyes, and all-ÂAmerican athletic bodies. They loved sports and were good athletes.
âHowâd it go?â Blake asked, as she smiled at him, put down her bag, and took off her shoes. It was a hot Indian summer day, and sheâd left the house at six a.m. to catch the train and be in Philadelphia in time for her meeting. Their housekeeper had picked Charlie up at school, Caroline and Andy took the subway home at different hours. One of the things Sybil liked about her eclectic work life was her flexible schedule, so she could usually pick Charlie up. Charlie had come as a surprise to both of them, but after the initial shock and adjustment, theyâd agreed that he was one of the best things that had ever happened to them. He was their easiest, most loving child, and always happy whatever he was doing. Both his older siblings enjoyed spending time with him too.
Two of the children were in their rooms by the time Sybil got home from Philadelphia. Andy and Caroline were doing homework, and Charlie was watching a movie on the flat-Âscreen TV in his parentsâ room. The children had had dinner, but Blake had waited for her. He followed her into the kitchen as she put out a salad and some cold chicken the housekeeper had left for them.
âI donât think Iâm going to curate their show,â she said as he poured her a glass of wine. âItâs coming over from Denmark. They really donât need me to curate it, it looks incomplete to me, and they donât want me adding to it. Itâs been put together by a prestigious museum, so they want to keep it as it is. Itâs not for me.â She turned down many of the opportunities she was offered. She was a purist about her work, and the periods and designers that interested her. âBesides, I need time to work on my book. I want to finish it in the next year.â Sheâd been working on it for two years. It was going to be almost a textbook of the best of modern design. âHow was your day?â She looked at him with a smile. They liked meeting up in the evenings to share what theyâd each done.
âFine. Iâm going to San Francisco on Wednesday,â he blurted out, realizing that he sounded insane. He looked startled himself, and had intended to introduce the subject more gracefully, but his nervousness about telling her had taken the upper hand.
âA new deal out there?â she asked and sipped her wine. He hesitated for a long moment, not sure what to say. And then he sighed and sat back in his chair. He never kept secrets from her. They were a team, and one that still worked well after eighteen years of marriage. There were few surprises in their life, and they both liked it that way. And they were still in love after almost two decades.
âI got an offer from a terrific start-Âup in San Francisco today,â he said in a low voice.
âYouâre going to turn them down?â She knew the answer to the question, but asked anyway. He always did. He was content where he was, or so she thought.
âThis oneâs different. Theyâre putting a lot of money into it, the two guys starting it have an impeccable reputation, and itâs going to work and make everyone involved a fortune.â He seemed certain. She looked at him as he said it, and set her fork down on her plate.
âBut itâs in San Francisco.â She might as well have said it was on Mars or Pluto. California was not part of their universe.
âI know, but theyâre offering me twice what Iâm making now and great stock options. If they win big with it, weâll be set for life.â They both made a good living. They led a comfortable life, and had everything they wanted, and so did their kids. And neither of them had ever aspired to those leagues. âIâm not saying Iâd make billions, but there is some very big money to be made on this deal, Syb. Itâs not easy to turn down.â
âWe canât move to San Francisco,â she said simply. âI canât, you canât, and we canât do that to the kids. Andrew is graduating this year.â Blake knew that all too well. He had thought of it all afternoon, with severe pangs of guilt for even considering the offer and not turning it down flat. He felt like the traitor in their midst.
âIâd like to just take a look so I can see what Iâm declining,â he said, knowing it was a poor excuse to go out there. And she knew it too.
âWhat if you donât want to turn it down?â she asked, looking worried.
âIâll have to, but I should at least listen to them.â He knew that at forty-Âsix, he wasnât going to get another offer like this one, and that if he didnât take it, heâd probably stay where he was for the rest of his career. There was nothing wrong with that, and his current job was respectable, but he wanted to be absolutely certain that declining it was the right thing to do, before he did.
âThis sounds ominous,â Sybil said, as she put their dishes in the sink.
âIâm not saying Iâll take it, Syb. I just want to have a look. Maybe I could do it for a couple of years,â he said, trying to find a solution to a problem she didnât want them to have.
âThey wonât let you do that. And we need to let Caro and Andy finish school here for the next two years.â He knew that declining the start-Âup in San Francisco was probably a sacrifice he would have to make, but it was harder than heâd expected it to be.
âIâll just be out there Wednesday to Friday, and back on the weekend,â he said quietly, but there was a look in his eye sheâd never seen before and didnât like. He was thinking of himself and not of them.
âWhy am I not reassured? You canât be serious about this, Blake.â Her mouth was set in a thin line and she looked tense.
âIt could set us up for the future. Iâm never going to make that kind of money here.â
âWe donât need more than what we have,â she said firmly. âWe have a great apartment and a good life.â She had never been greedy and was satisfied with what they both made.
âThis isnât just about money. Itâs exciting to be part of something new. This could be groundbreaking. Iâm sorry, Syb. I just want to check it out. Do you hate me for that?â He loved her and didnât want to screw up their marriage, but he knew it would gnaw at him forever if he didnât talk to the people in San Francisco now. He had promised to fly out before asking her.
âI couldnât hate you .?.?. except if you move us out of New York,â she said and laughed. She wasnât angry at him, but she was afraid. âJust promise me you wonât go crazy out there and accept the job before we talk.â
âOf course not.â He put an arm around her and they found Charlie asleep on their bed with the TV on when they walked into their bedroom. Blake carried him to his own room, Sybil changed him into his pajamas, and he never woke up.
They said good night to Caroline and Andy, and after they turned off the lights, Sybil lay in bed, thinking about what Blake had said. She hoped this was just one of those moments when an idea looks enticing for a few minutes and then reality sets in, and you know itâs not for you. She couldnât see any of them living in San Francisco, and didnât want to. And even if the job sounded exciting to him now, she was sure theyâd all be miserable if they left New York for him. It was the last thing she wanted to do, even for the man she loved. They couldnât do it to their kids. And she didnât want a bicoastal marriage, where they flew to see each other on weekends. There was just no way it could work for them. Their life in New York was perfect the way it was. Blake agreed with her, but the opportunity heâd been offered in San Francisco was one of a kind.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Past Perfect by Danielle Steel. Copyright © 2017 Danielle Steel. Excerpted by permission of Random House Publishing Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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