Family Man

her mother.”
    “But she's not her mother, and I'm not my father.”
    “You are more like him than you will ever know. And you are attracted to the same kind of women. I saw the photos of your wife in the papers. Compared to her Katy must seem very plain indeed. Don't try to tell me you're in love with her.”
    Luke shrugged. “Okay. I won't tell you that.”
    “And if you're not in love with her,” Justine continued relentlessly, “then there is only one reason you would ask her to marry you.”
    “The final act of my revenge?”
    “Yes, damn you.” Justine leaned forward, her fingers tight around the arms of her chair. “Luke, I brought you back here to save the company and the family. Katy believes you're going to help us, not destroy us.”
    “It will be interesting to see what you believe, won't it?” Luke started toward the door. “Will you be in church on the day I marry Katy?”
    “There will be no wedding,” Justine grated.
    “How will you stop it?”
    “I shall convince Katy to reject your proposal if it is the last thing I do.”
    “Poor Katy. Caught in the middle of a Gilchrist duel. Well, may the best Gilchrist win.” Luke paused. “By the way, does the name Sam Atwood mean anything to you?”
    Justine faltered, clearly thrown off balance by the change of topic. She scowled. “Atwood? Any connection to that dreadful Nate Atwood?”
    “His father.”
    “No. I never knew his father. I understood the man was dead.”
    “He is,” Luke said. “He committed suicide about fifteen years ago. He lost his wife to cancer, and shortly after that he lost his business. Apparently it was too much for him. He put a bullet in his brain.”
    Justine gave him a sharp look. “What has that got to do with anything?”
    “Nothing, I guess,” Luke said softly. “Just another Gilchrist road kill.”

    The following afternoon Luke stood in front of one of the large stainless steel sinks in the gleaming kitchen of the Pacific Rim. He silently cursed all temperamental chefs.
    “No, no, no, Mr. Gilchrist.” Benedict Dalton, resplendent in pristine white from head to toe, frowned at the bunch of green leaves Luke clutched in his fist. “One must handle spinach very carefully. One does not wish to bruise it.”
    “How the hell am I supposed to get the stem off if I don't hand on to the leaf?”
    Benedict sighed. “With great care, Mr. Gilchrist. And a proper respect for the freshness of the produce. Once again. Hold the leaf gently in your left hand, and take the stem between thumb and forefinger. Remove it gently.”
    Luke jerked the stem. The leaf tore apart.
    Benedict was outraged. “My God, you have no feeling for the spinach at all, Mr. Gilchrist.”
    “If it's so damn sensitive, maybe I should forget using it in the salad.”
    Benedict's lips pursed. “This is to be a practice session, if you will recall. And you were the one who chose the spinach salad for your menu, so it makes perfect sense to practice with spinach.”
    “It's a hell of a nuisance, if you ask me.”
    “If you do not wish to learn how to clean spinach properly, you are, naturally, free to prepare your salad with the sand left in it.”
    Luke slanted the chef a surly glance. “No, thanks.”
    Benedict smiled beatifically, obviously secure in the knowledge that he held the upper hand. “If you wish to select other greens, you may, of course, do so. There is romaine, curly endive, arugula, watercress. All, however, are even more fragile than spinach.”
    “Never mind.” Luke eyed the leaves floating in the water. “I've started with the damned spinach, and I'll stick to it. Is it really necessary to wash each leaf by hand?”
    “I'm afraid so.” Benedict's tone did not sound particularly sympathetic.
    “You're enjoying this, aren't you?”
    “It is not often one has a chance to give orders to a Gilchrist,” Benedict said cheerfully. “Now then, have you decided which dressing you will want to prepare?”
    “The lemon vinaigrette.”
    “Excellent choice. Have you ever made a vinaigrette dressing?”
    “No.”
    “It will be an interesting experience, I'm sure. Are you a patient man?”
    “Not when it comes to cooking.” Luke painstakingly rinsed off another spinach leaf.
    “Perhaps you will learn patience as we go on.”
    “I doubt it.” Luke ripped off another stem.
    “Then it is unfortunate that you have chosen to do a soufflé for your dessert course.”
    “I chose it because I think the lady I'm