CHAPTER ONE
Long Island, New York—Fall 1908
Six months earlier
Khalid removed his foot from the gas pedal and downshifted. The coupe responded accordingly, gliding around the curve with ease. Once through the corner, he hit the throttle, and shifted into fourth gear, sending the car charging down the straightaway.
Khalid grinned. Denny Upton, his new head mechanic, was a genius! His idea for an all-aluminium race car with an upgraded six-cylinder engine and two-barrel carburetor would land him in the winner’s circle--this time on American soil in the recently re-launched Vanderbilt Cup. Founded by William Kissam Vanderbilt II, the forty-five mile race had received an upgrade from the dirt roads of Long Island to the newly built Long Island Motor Parkway. As a result the race attracted elite endurance drivers from across the globe, including Khalid.
After putting the car through its paces several more times, and satisfied with the initial trial, Khalid pulled into the apron.
“How did she do? Any problems?” Denny asked, stepping forward to help Khalid out of the car. Sporting an oily jumpsuit that had seen better days, the redhead’s baby face belied a mechanical genius.
Ecstatic, Khalid ripped off his goggles and tossed them to his personal valet Eugene before turning to Denny. “She handles beautifully, mon ami.” Khalid smiled triumphantly. “Handled better than a dream—like a well-trained, courtesan in bed. How fast did she go, by the way?”
Denny glanced down at the stop watch. Eyes wide with disbelief, he glanced back up at Khalid, then down again. “If you were racing the Benz Grand Prix racing car, you would’ve beaten it by five seconds.”
Not believing the time, Khalid grabbed the stopwatch. “Mon Dieu! You’ve done it.” Khalid clapped Denny on the back.
“You mean we did it,” Denny corrected. Blushing profusely, his cheeks matched the thatch of hair on his head. “I couldn’t have done it without your support, sir.”
“It’s Khalid or Francois,” Khalid admonished. “I might write the checks, but we’re still on equal footing in this endeavor.” Khalid smacked his hands together, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. “This calls for a celebration. How about we head—”
“You have a prior commitment, sir.” Eugene interjected, stepping forward. Middle-aged and balding, the man had been Khalid’s personal assistant for more than five years. A testament to his fortitude and questionable code of ethics, since a dozen others had the job previously and had quit due to Khalid’s sometimes unsavory demands.
Khalid frowned. “I do?” he asked, then without thinking he said, “Cancel it.”
Normally, Eugene would’ve followed Khalid’s orders without any objections, but for some reason the other man stayed firm. “You’re to have dinner with your former college roommate, Dr. Harry Bryant,” he reminded him. “You’ve arranged to meet several times before. And yet, you’ve canceled every single time.”
“Several times?” Khalid asked, seeking confirmation.
“Three times, sir.” Eugene tweaked his glasses. His cerulean blue eyes glittered with ill-contained reproach. “Each time Dr. Bryant has graciously accepted your apologies.”
Having pledged to take more responsibility for his actions on his twenty-seventh birthday, Khalid was resigned to his fate. He turned to Denny, “Duty calls, mon ami,” he declared, holding out his hand. “After we win the Vanderbilt Cup, and we will, you and I will celebrate for an entire week.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” Denny took Khalid’s hand in his and shook it.
“Is everything in order?”
Olivia tweaked the placement of the bouquet of hydrangeas she’d personally selected for tonight’s centerpiece. One of her favorite flowers, she’d chosen them because they would offset the lavender and silver pattern in their mother’s anniversary china.
“I’m done here and Meredith just put dinner in the oven.” Olivia stepped back to eye her handiwork. “But I don’t understand why we’re even bothering. Mr. High and Mighty never shows and you spend the next three days moping.”
“He’s a busy man,” Harry admonished, sounding somewhat exasperated as he fiddled with his bow tie.
Olivia plopped her hands on her hips. “And a colored doctor with his own private practice isn’t busy?”
“It isn’t the same, Liv. Khalid Francois Du?s is an important man, a wealthy industrialist with holdings on three continents. I only employ three people. I’m sure his family retains hundreds.”
“You can say that name a hundred times but it won’t make him more important than you. The man is an insensitive lout for standing you up so many times. I don’t understand why you keep reaching out to him whenever he’s in New York.”
Even though she’d said the words, Olivia had a notion as to why her brother repeatedly extended the olive branch to his old roommate from Yale. Both had obviously bonded over their being different from the rest of the student body. Her brother never talked of his time in New Haven, but she could bet it had been difficult. If Khalid had been a faithful companion to her brother, then she would set the table a dozen more times, albeit begrudgingly.
“I better head upstairs and change.” Olivia glanced down at the grass stains in what had been a sparkling white apron. “We want to impress your guest.”
Olivia skirted the dining room table, heading for the stairs. She got halfway when her brother wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her in close and planted a kiss against her brow.
“Thank you for everything,” he whispered.
“Thank me after your guest finally graces us with his illustrious presence. Now let me go,” she insisted, pushing away from him.
“Gladly.” Harry leaned forward and inhaled. “Because you stink.”
Highly intelligent, Harry released her before her open palm made contact.
***
Olivia was still upstairs when their company arrived. The sun had just set, melting into the Hudson, transforming the early evening sky into a spectrum of soft oranges and pale pinks. Anxious to see his college buddy, Harry shooed his housekeeper Meredith back into the kitchen and answered the front door himself.
“Come in, come in, old sport!” Harry pumped Khalid’s hand as he shut the front door.
Dressed in a black dinner suit and contrasting white collar and cuffs, Khalid was a striking figure. Standing well over six feet, his frame had filled out by at least twenty pounds and his swarthy good looks, still heightened with a perpetual golden tan, had only improved over time. His genial nature also remained intact because his green eyes twinkled with mischief.
“About time you invited me over,” Khalid said, returning Harry’s enthusiastic welcome.
Harry chuckled at the joke. “About time you showed your ugly mug. One more rain check from you, and my sister was planning to dispatch the Buffalo Soldiers to drag you to our doorstep.”
“Glad I made it.” Khalid rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t want to cross that bunch.”
“They’re nothing compared to my sister,” Harry warned.
Not the least bit unnerved by the feminine threat, his former college roommate grinned. “I see life has been treating you well.” Khalid wasn’t referring to the three-story brownstone Harry shared with Olivia. Instead, his gazed lingered on Harry’s burgeoning belly.
Harry puffed out his chest, mimicking a proud peacock. Unlike Khalid, he wasn’t as fit as he was during their days at Yale. “Three square meals a day, a few sugar cookies tossed in and you, too, can have a fine figure such as mine.”
To Harry’s surprise, Khalid placed his hands on his shoulders and pulled him into a bear hug. “How I’ve missed your humor. There were many days when I’d thought of throwing in the towel. You always made me see to the end of the tunnel, and realize that life wasn’t all that bad.”
“You as well, brother, you as well,” Harry sniffled, overcome with emotion. Misty-eyed, they both looked away embarrassed. For the briefest moment, an awkward silence fell between them and then Harry chuckled.
“Since that’s out of our system, how about we have a drink on the patio?” He took a couple of steps, but then hesitated. Somewhat sheepishly, he scratched the back of his head. “You still drink or have you converted?”
Khalid grinned. “Even if I did, it wouldn’t make a difference. My mother’s people fought unsuccessfully against Muslim rule, but the line between Islamic law and traditional Tuareg beliefs is more than a little blurred. So, yes a little rye isn’t forbidden.”
Relieved he hadn’t taken a misstep, Harry gushed, “Sounds like a plan.”
Harry steered them through the drawing room and a set of double doors at the back of the house. Two basket weave chairs framed a round glass-topped table, containing three silver cups, sugar, ice, a bowl of fresh spearmint and a bottle of top-shelf bourbon.
“Hope you still like mint juleps.” Taking his seat, Harry picked up a wooden pestle. “Remember when we discovered these?” He peeked at Khalid, who appeared to physically blanch at the memory.
“How could I forget?” Chuckling, Khalid raked a tanned hand down his face as if to absolve himself of the memory of their jaunt to the Kentucky Derby. “I almost found myself forced into a shotgun wedding by that horse trainer. Thankfully, he had enough sense to realize someone else had beaten me to his daughter by several months.”
“That was classic,” Harry crowed. “I’ve never seen you that scared in my entire life. Practically shitting in your boots.”
Khalid cracked a smile. “You would’ve shit as well, if you woke up after a romp in the hay and found yourself staring down a double-barreled shotgun.”
“That’s what you deserve for your insatiable appetite for the fairer sex.” Harry handed Khalid his drink. His friend brought the cup to his lips, but paused.
“Should we wait for your sister?” he asked, pointing to the third cup.
Harry waved away the other man’s reservations. “My sister will be a while yet. She left the office early to personally oversee preparations for tonight’s dinner. She went upstairs right before you arrived.”
“Your sister is gainfully employed?”
“Yes. We work side by side. She’s the head nurse at my practice.”
Khalid’s face twisted in disgust. One would’ve thought he’d sat in a pile of horse dung instead of learning his sister was exactly the kind of woman he’d raised her to be--emotionally and financially independent.
Of course, Harry wasn’t surprised by his friend’s reaction. Khalid’s mother might hail from a matrilineal Tuareg clan, but he was very much his father’s son. An old-school catholic and primary custodian, Sebastian Du?s had obviously raised his three sons to view women as brood mares or revolving mattresses for men. Harry speculated the pair’s differing views was the primary reason behind their more than decade-long estrangement.
Khalid would probably suffer a heart attack if he knew Harry allowed Olivia to run his office, and maintain the books.
“Let me get this straight. Your sister not only works, she’s also educated?”
Harry smiled with pride as he muddled one part sugar and two parts spearmint at the bottom of his glass. “Liv graduated last spring from Hampton Institute,” he admitted, while garnishing the mixture with two fingers of Kentucky bourbon. He caught Khalid’s incredulous expression and chuckled. “You look like I just told you my sister was born with two heads.”
“You might as well,” Khalid scoffed. “A woman’s place is in the home—preferably in bed with her legs spread.”
“That’s the kind of thinking that got you in trouble in Kentucky, Maine, Virginia, and Delaware,” Harry ticked off on his fingers.
“Guilty, guilty, guilty, and guilty. I swear you have a memory like an elephant’s,” Khalid admonished with a grin.
“Your escapades were many, but I swear I will take every one of them to the grave.” Leaning forward, Harry tapped his cup against Khalid’s, sealing his promise.
“Speaking of women, when are you going to settle down?” Harry looked pointedly at Khalid’s bare ring finger. “Like me you’re looking hard at thirty.”
“I’m only twenty-seven, and if I want a woman, I find one, and take her to bed. When she becomes too clingy, I end things.”
Harry shook his head at his friend’s antiquated reasoning. “What kind of woman would stand for that kind of treatment?”
“The only kind of woman to whom I always find myself attracted. A woman I don’t have to court. Be bothered with taking for walks in the park, pretending I like flowers or her abysmal watercolors.”
Harry almost choked on his cocktail, but it turned into laughter when Khalid slapped him on his back.
“Wh-wh-what about children?” he sputtered. “A son to carry on the family name.”
“My brother, Aksim, found the love of his life several years ago. Soraya has already given him two hard-headed little boys. I plan to leave my estates to my beautiful nephews despite their wily ways.”
“But every man needs a wife or at least a companion. A woman who will make your house a home. Give you peace of mind. Make you feel ten feet tall.”
Khalid appeared to consider Harry’s words, but his expression was fleeting, replaced by a wolfish grin. “If I find such a woman, I will snatch her off the market and hide her away. Until then, I will continue to add to my harem.”
Hearing a sound akin to a shriek or broken glass, both Harry and Khalid glanced up.
“Dinner is ready, Dr. Bryant,” Meredith announced somewhat flustered, her eyes flitting to one of the open windows directly above the patio.
“Has my sister come down?”
Meredith stepped forward to take their empty cocktail glasses. “She’ll be down shortly, sir.”
“So where are you staying?” Harry asked as he led them back through the drawing room and down a hallway, leading to the front of the house.
“The Linwood Hotel located in Bay Shore.”
“You’re staying all the way out in the sticks? You know, you’re more than welcome to stay with us.” Harry wouldn’t sleep well tonight if he didn’t offer Khalid the comfort of his home. “You’d practically have the run of the house since my sister and I work long hours.”
“I wouldn’t think of intrud…”
Wondering what happened to make Khalid trail off in midsentence, Harry turned about and found his friend transfixed, seemingly mesmerized, on something at the end of the hall. Curious, Harry followed suit.
Olivia stood at the bottom of the stairs, dressed for dinner. Back ramrod stiff and nostrils flaring, she looked fit to be tied.
Harry’s quick mind put two and two together. And when she entered the dining room, sans escort, he almost wanted to turn tail and hide.
“Is that your sister?” Khalid whispered, his eyes following Olivia’s retreating figure.
“She nags me more like a wife,” Harry jested, but seeing the angry, almost envious glare it garnered him from Khalid, he decided to set the record straight. “That’s my sister, Olivia.”
Before Harry could warn Khalid to approach with caution, the other man hurried down the hall, hot on Olivia’s heels with Harry not too far behind. He wasn’t concerned for his sister’s chastity. Olivia could handle herself. It was Khalid who needed protecting.