CHAPTER 18

Ever since he’d come to Canada, Servito had acquired a deep and abiding hatred for cold weather. He longed for the warm sunny days of his reckless youth. Before returning to Toronto, therefore, he stopped at Palm Beach. Business further north had always been a priority, but now Servito was looking for a temperate vacation home.

“Nice plane. She yours?” asked the mechanic who had towed Servito’s airplane to a resting place at the Palm Beach International Airport.

“Nope. It’s owned by an offshore trust,” Servito replied. “Where’s a good place to stay around here?”

“Depends,” the mechanic replied.

“Depends on what?”

“On how deep your pockets are.”

“Suppose the price is no object,” Servito replied with a sly grin.

The mechanic pointed east. “Definitely The Breakers. It’s a big mega star hotel, right on the ocean.”

Servito used the mechanic’s telephone to call The Breakers Golf and Beach Club. He booked the Presidential Suite and ordered a limousine. Then he used a fake passport to clear customs, and relaxed while the limousine whisked him off to the island of Palm Beach.

A few minutes later, the Presidential Suite’s drapes were flung open by an enthusiastic bellboy to expose a fantastic view. Even though the sun had set twenty minutes earlier, there was still sufficient light to see the vast expanse of greenish gray ocean and the profiles of cruise ships on the horizon. Servito felt he could look out at that view forever. Presently, he picked up the receiver close to the bed and dialed Jerry Allison’s Toronto number.

Allison normally slept until noon, wasted his afternoons at Woodbine racetrack, and spent his nights collecting money for Servito. He answered after five rings. “Hello,” he mumbled, his mouth filled with a bite of sandwich.

“It’s me.”

“Where the hell are you?” Allison garbled.

“Palm Beach.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Don’t worry about it, Jerry. Everything’s under control.”

“How did you get through customs?”

“I’ll tell you when I get back. I’m going to stay here for at least a week. Can you handle things?”

“Don’t even think about it. Have a nice time. You deserve a vacation.”

“I’m at The Breakers,” Servito said, and gave Allison the telephone number of his suite.

“Uncle Sam’s going to nail you one of these days… and when he does, your ass is gonna be grass,” Allison warned.

“You let me worry about that. Meanwhile, I suggest you cover your own ass.”

“I’ll try not to call you,” Allison said. He hung up and reached for his next sandwich.

Dressed in jeans, running shoes, and a well flowered shirt from Cayman, Servito hurried from his suite to the hotel lobby the following morning. “I need the name of a real estate company specializing in beach front homes. Here in Palm Beach,” he told the desk clerk.

The clerk nodded while staring askance at Servito’s dress and unshaven face. “Yes, sir. I would recommend Everglades Realty. They’re absolutely the best.”

“Why don’t you call them for me? Ask them to send an agent here.”

“When would you—”

Servito winked. “Now.”

“Your name, sir?”

“Durant. Arthur Durant. I’m staying in your Presidential Suite.”

“Yes sir. Just give me a minute.” Servito paced back and forth while he waited impatiently. The desk clerk returned less than a minute later. “A representative from Everglades Realty will be here in fifteen minutes, Mr. Durant,” he said, smiling. “Her name is Mary Langley. She’ll pick you up at the front door in a white Rolls Royce.”

Mary Langley arrived at the front of the hotel in exactly fifteen minutes. With ten years of experience in the Palm Beach market and a stunning dress, she was locked and loaded. Servito opened the door and jumped into the seat beside her before the Rolls had even come to a stop. “Hi. I’m Arthur Durant,” he said, flashing his irresistible smile. “How would you like to sell me a house?” he asked. His gray eyes scanned Mary’s well-proportioned body.

Mary was somewhat startled, but forced a smile and shook his hand lightly. “Did you have any particular location in mind, Mr. Durant? We have—”

“On the ocean.”

She gave Servito an incredulous stare. He scarcely appeared to have the means for any property in Palm Beach, let alone beach front. “Did you have any particular dollar amount in mind?” she asked, expecting to shock him with the reality of Palm Beach prices.

“If I like the house, the price is irrelevant,” Servito replied.

Mary Langley doubted her newest client understood how expensive “irrelevant” could be, but his rugged good looks and brash approach appealed to her. She gave him the red carpet tour, showing him eight waterfront mansions.

The last, just south of the Southern Boulevard Bridge, was a thirty-seven room Spanish hacienda with white stucco walls and a rust colored tile roof. The house surrounded a spacious courtyard that featured a large, kidney-shaped swimming pool in the middle. The pool deck and surrounding courtyard were covered with glazed Mexican tile and planters filled with brightly colored flowers and tropical palms. A portion of the east side of the complex was open to the beach, providing a panoramic view of the ocean.

Servito followed Mary Langley through the courtyard and eastward toward the ocean. She drew his attention to the landscaping as they traversed the rear yard. “The area has been planted with a variety of palm trees, palmetto bushes, and tropical flowers,” she explained. “The plantings have been placed strategically to provide maximum privacy without obscuring the ocean view.”

“Let’s keep going toward the ocean,” Servito insisted, after only a casual glance at the plantings. “I want you to show me where the property line is.”

They walked toward the ocean, but stopped when they saw a young woman approaching from the beach. She wore a scanty white bikini that contrasted magnificently with her deeply tanned skin and long raven hair.

Mary flung her hand over her head. “Where have you been?” she shouted, smiling and waving.

“Looking for you,” the woman replied.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours,” Mary said. “How did you know I was here?”

“I phoned your office.”

Mary turned to Servito. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I should have introduced you right away. I want you to meet Karen Taylor, a very dear friend of mine.” She turned to Karen. “Karen, this is Arthur Durant, a client of mine. I hope.” She winked at Servito, but he was staring at Karen.

“Nice to meet you, Karen,” he said, struggling to avoid a lecherous body scan. “Do you live around here?”

“If you buy this house, Arthur, Karen will be your next door neighbor. She lives right over there,” she said, pointing south.

“In that case, I’ll buy it,” Servito said, his eyes still locked on Karen.

“What did you say?” Mary asked, shocked.

“I’ll buy the house.” He smiled. “I like the neighborhood.”

“That’s wonderful.” Mary gulped, still doubting her client’s ability to pay for it. She had not even told him the asking price. How could she question his sincerity with class? “Karen and I are having dinner at The Breakers tonight, Arthur. Would you like to join us? My treat.”

“I’d be happy to join you. Do I need a black tie?”

“You don’t need a tie of any kind. Just meet us there at six-thirty. In the meantime, you and I can go back to my office and complete the paperwork. If you were serious about buying this house?”

“I am always serious,” Servito confirmed, staring at Karen.

Mary drove Servito to her office, where he made arrangements through an attorney in Toronto and a banker on Cayman Island to purchase the house. The purchaser was Bridge Financial, S. A., a company named after the Peace Bridge, which was the fulcrum of Servito’s incredible scam. The consideration was seven and a half million, the asking price.

“I’m on a roll!” Servito declared as he scribbled an illegible signature on the purchase documents. “In less than two hours, I bought the house of my dreams and met the woman of my dreams.”

Karen Taylor and Mary Langley stepped out of Everglades Realty’s white Rolls Royce in front of The Breakers at 6 p.m. and headed for the hotel’s front doors.

“So he did it?” Karen asked as they headed for the hotel’s front doors.

“It was amazing,” Mary replied. “He wasn’t the slightest bit interested in negotiating. He just asked me what the vendor was asking. He called a lawyer in Toronto and, less than thirty minutes later, seven and a half million was wired to our account from a bank in Cayman.”

“What business is he in? Did you ask him?”

“Not yet, but I’m going to—I’m dying to know. I think he’s gorgeous. I’d take a run at him if I wasn’t married.”

Karen and Mary found Servito at the bar in the Emerald Lounge, which was an intimate watering hole adjacent to a brilliantly green swimming pool. He was dressed in light khaki trousers, sandals, and a blazingly red tropical shirt, which gapped open enough to show generous quantities of black chest hair.

“Hi,” Karen said with a radiant smile. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

Servito shook his head. “I just got here. You girls ready for drinks?”

Mary nodded. “What a wonderful idea. I’ll have vodka on the rocks.”

“Karen, what’ll you have?” Servito asked.

“White wine, please,” Karen replied before lifting herself up to the stool on Servito’s right. She was stunningly attractive in a red silk blouse and short white skirt. A thin gold chain adorned her neck.

Servito experienced a strange and unique sense of nervousness. “Where in the world are you from, Karen?” he asked, struggling against a compelling urge to stare at her breasts and long, bronzed legs.

“Toronto. I was born and raised there. Where are you from?” Karen asked.

“What an incredible coincidence! I’m from Toronto, too.”

“Born and raised?”

Servito shook his head. “I was born in Oregon, but I found my way to Toronto ten years ago.”

“What brought you to Toronto?”

“Business.”

Mary could wait no longer. “Arthur, do you mind if I ask what business you’re in? My curiosity’s killing me. It isn’t often someone your age buys ocean front property in Palm Beach.”

“I’m in the oil business,” Servito replied.

“Do you own oil wells?” Mary asked.

Servito shook his head. “My business is at the other end of the pipeline. I’m in gasoline.”

“Obviously, you’ve done well.”

“I’ve been fortunate,” Servito said, resisting a strong urge to brag.

“Do your parents live in Oregon?” Karen asked.

“No. They’re both dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Karen said, wishing she hadn’t asked.

“I was only three when it happened. It was a freak accident.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“The plane they were in crashed in the mountains somewhere in Utah,” Servito said, looking away. “If my father’s car hadn’t broken down at the last minute, they would have driven to Salt Lake City. But they decided to fly.”

“Who looked after you after that?”

“Nobody,” Servito said. Part of him wanted to tell Karen more—reveal to her every inch of his soul—but a larger part wanted to block out the horrible loss of his parents and the miserable years that had followed.

“Nobody!” Karen said, startled by Servito’s answer. “How did you survive?”

“Orphanages.” He shrugged.

Karen placed her hand on top of Servito’s. “You really don’t want to talk about it, do you?”

Servito frowned and shook his head. Then he stared into Karen’s eyes. “Have you ever been in love?” he asked, hoping she would never let go of his hand. “I mean really in love.”

“Just once,” Karen replied wistfully. “It ended a long time ago.”

“So you’re not involved with anyone now?”

“No.”

“I can’t believe it,” he said, shaking his head.

Karen released Servito’s hand. “You can believe it or not,” she retorted, annoyed by his suspicion. “It’s true.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I said it right. I was about to say that I can’t believe what’s happened to me in the past twenty-four hours.”

“What’s happened to you?” Karen asked, turning to look over the bar.

Servito resisted an almost overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around Karen and pull himself close to her. “I was shocked when the girl next door turned out to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen… I was overwhelmed when I found out she was single and uninvolved.”

Karen conceded a grin. “Well, you’re forgiven.”

Servito remained in Palm Beach for almost three weeks, long enough to move into his new home, mesmerize Karen, and disclose his real name to her. In addition to winning her heart, he succeeded in convincing her that he was a legitimate businessman, and that he had obtained his wealth by hard work and total dedication.

Karen’s attraction to Servito might have been chemistry, his charisma, the magic of circumstances, or all three. Whatever it was, her interest in him intensified. He excited her. His energy and crazy enthusiasm made her happy again, and helped her to forget her loneliness and the horror of her captivity in Syria. She found herself looking forward to seeing him again and again, until she ached to be with him.