Weep No More My Lady by Mary Higgins Clark Read Free Book Online Page A

Ted elected to turn over the controls to him. Moore had been the chief pilot for Winters Enterprises for ten years. But Ted wanted to make this landing, to see how smoothly he could bring the plane in. Set the wheels down. Land on his feet. It was all one, wasn’t it?
    Craig had come forward an hour ago and urged him to let John take over.
    â€œCocktails are ready at your fahvoreet tahbl’ in the cornaire, Monsieur Wintairs.”
    He’d done his flawless imitation of the captain at the Four Seasons.
    â€œFor Christ’s sake,” Ted had snapped, “no more of your impersonations today. I don’t need that now.”
    Craig had known enough not to argue when Ted decided to stay at the controls.
    The runway was rushing toward them. Ted eased the nose of the plane up slightly. How much longer would he be free to fly planes, to travel, to have a drink or not have a drink, to function as a human being? The trial would begin next week. He didn’t like his new lawyer. Henry Bartlett was too pompous, too conscious of his own image. Ted could imagine Bartlett in a New Yorker ad, holding up a bottle of Scotch, the caption reading, “This is the only brand I ever serve my guests.”
    The main wheels touched the ground. The impact inside the plane was almost unnoticeable. Ted threw the engines into reverse. “Nice landing, sir,” John said quietly.
    Wearily, Ted brushed his hand over his forehead. He wished he could get John over the habit of calling him “sir.” He also wished he could get Henry Bartlett over the habit of calling him “Teddy.” Did all criminal lawyers think that because you need their services, they have the right to be condescending? An interesting question. Had circumstances been different, he wouldn’t have had anything to do with a man like Bartlett. But firing the man who was supposed to be the best defense lawyer in the country at a time when you’re facing a long prison sentence wouldn’t be smart. He had always thought of himself as smart. He wasn’t so sure anymore.
    A few minutes later, they were in a limousine heading for the Spa. “I’ve heard a lot about the Monterey Peninsula,” Bartlett commented as they turned onto Highway 68. “I still don’t see why we couldn’t have worked on the case at your place in Connecticut or your New York apartment; but you’re paying the bills.”
    â€œWe’re here because Ted needs the kind of relaxation he gets at Cypress Point,” Craig said. He did not bother to hide the edge in his voice.
    Ted was sitting on the right side of the roomy back seat, Henry beside him. Craig had taken the seat facing them, next to the bar. Craig raised the lid of the bar and mixed a martini. With a half-smile he handed it to Ted. “You know Min’s rules about booze. You’d better drink up fast.”
    Ted shook his head. “I seem to remember another time when I drank up fast. Have you got a cold beer in there?”
    â€œTeddy, I absolutely have to insist that you stop referring to that night in a way that suggests you don’t have complete recall.”
    Ted turned to look directly at Henry Bartlett, absorbing the man’s silver hair, his urbane manner, the faint hint of an English accent in his voice. “Let’s get something straight,” he said. “You are not, I repeat not to call me Teddy again. My name, in case you don’t remember it from that very sizable retainer, is Andrew Edward Winters. I have always been called Ted. If you find that too difficult to remember, you may call me Andrew. My grandmother always did. Nod if you understand what I just said.”
    â€œTake it easy, Ted,” Craig said quietly.
    â€œI’ll take it a lot easier if Henry and I establish a few ground rules.”
    He felt his hand grip the glass. He was unraveling. He could feel it. These months since the indictment, he’d managed to keep