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wasn’t.   Alex was Wenn.   So, I agreed.

 
 
 
 
 
    CHAPTER
SIX

 
    Before I left, I wanted to see Alex.  
    Blackwell and I had lunch, which was so
good that she insisted that Charlie contact her tout suite about a
possible scholarship through Wenn, which she confided to me she’d make certain
he’d receive.   Then, with the guard
following us at a discreet distance, we went back to Alex’s room.
    “How long will I have a guard tailing me?”
    “As long as it takes for the police and
the FBI to do their jobs and find out who was behind the shooting.”
    “That could take days.   Weeks.”
    “You’d rather have no protection?”
    That shut me up.   We stepped into the room, and I was surprised to find Alex
sitting up in bed.   He didn’t look
as groggy as he had before.   In
fact, he looked alert.   When he saw
me, he smiled.
    “Would you two like a moment alone?”
Blackwell asked.
    “No,” I said.   “Please stay.   I’m sure Alex wants to see you.”
    “Of course he does,” she said.   “Just a touch of my naturally cheerful
personality should give him all he needs to heal.”   She went around the bed and took his hand.   “Are you feeling better, dear?”
    “I want to get the hell out of here.”
    “So, you are feeling better.”   She leaned down and kissed him on the
forehead.   “That’s good to see.”
    “I feel fine now.   Why do I have to stay another day?”
    “Stop behaving as if you’re twelve.   You’re here to make certain that there
are no complications.   From what I
understand, you struck your head quite hard.”
    “There’s work to do.”
    “Work is getting done without you.   Yes—it’s true, Alex.   Imagine that.   Wenn can manage without you for a few days, just as it did
when you two were in Maine.   The
board obviously is concerned, and they’re moving forward with what you’ve
already approved while keeping everything else on hold until you get back
tomorrow.   Does that suit?”
    “Yes, but I see no reason why I can’t go
home tonight.   I’ll just rest in my
own bed.   I’ll take it easy.   I promise.”   He looked over at me.   “Jennifer will be with me.   She’ll make sure of it.   Won’t you?”
    I exchanged a glance with Blackwell, who
took the lead.   “Henri Dufort is
circling,” she said.
    “About the Streamed deal?”
    “That’s right.”
    He shrugged.   “Great.   I can
meet with him tomorrow.”
    “That’s the thing,” Blackwell said.   “He wants to meet tonight.   He knows that Jennifer is intimate with
the deal, and he’d like to meet with her to keep the conversation and the
possibilities going.   He’s asked
that she attend a dinner party with him so they can discuss those
possibilities.”
    For a moment, Alex went silent.   Then he turned to me.   “How do you feel about that?”
    “I’m happy to do whatever I can.”
    “But do you want to do this?”
    “If it means making sure that we bring him
in, I think I should do this.   And
it’s at an informal setting, which is good—it will help to keep the
discussions light.   I’ll answer his
questions, but all negotiations must go through you.”
    “I’m not comfortable with you being out in
public right now.”
    “She’ll have security with her,” Blackwell
said.   “I’ll make certain of it.”
    “Who’s having the party?” Alex asked.
    “Peachy Van Prout at her mansion on Park.”
    “Jesus,” Alex said.   “She’ll have two hundred people there
for cocktails.   Then have fifty for
dinner.   Am I right?”
    “You’re correct.”
    “I can’t stand Van Prout.”
    “That’s because your mother liked her.”
    “Probably.”
    “Definitely.   But Peachy is nice—and she’s always adored you.   You know that.   She's always been kind to you.”
    “She’s been kinder to her image.   What’s the party for?   To cure some disease Peachy probably
learned about through her publicist?   Let me