The position of corporate lawyer afforded Myles Forbin many opportunities for what, in another context, might be called insider trading, except the product in this case was a carefully compiled collection of personal tidbits of gossip he found useful when favours were required and which he also frequently enjoyed sharing with Miriam. It wasn't that they had such a tight relationship, in fact Myles, for the most part, really detested spending many evenings with her at all; it was just that when he found something particularly juicy it was in his character to need to share, and he did-with Miriam, who always seemed to enjoy the occasional iniquitous act.

He strutted in front of his library window, studying the proposal Peter had drafted for the potential merger strategy and his own notes on Brian's assault on Moira Weston to win her support. Peter was expressing some doubts about Brian's approach and he felt that perhaps Myles should lend a hand in winning Moira over; a more polished, subtle tactic was needed he felt. Myles warmed to the idea. The less appealing part of the report was the need to show a united front at the rally Barton was springing.

Miriam entered the room bearing a silver tray with a coffee urn and a small snack of sweets and he paused to watch her set the tray on his desk. She was still a well put together specimen, he mused, permitting himself a compliment in his selection, just not up to his level intellectually. It was her constant, unnerving smile that made him shudder inside; it invoked the horrendous image of Gabriella. Miriam though, seemed to have an unsettling Stepford quality about her and in contrast, he felt a twinge of guilty thrill thinking about Moira Weston.

"The coffee is your favourite, French Roast, Myles, and the sweets are from the Lindt selection you admire." She filled two cups as she described the offering in her trademark, dulcet tones. "I'm eager to hear about work, darling," she purred, taking her cup and a chocolate biscuit to the large upholstered basket chair next to the fireplace. "Barton's party has just set the guild crackling with tension and intrigue."

Myles closed the file folder and set it on the desk while he fixed his coffee. "I can imagine. Unsubstantiated gossip is the bane of any company living on the stock exchange." He chose a biscuit from the tray and strolled to the window. "I expect I will be getting a call from Moira soon, possibly she may even broach the subject at the rally."

"The subject?"

He wandered back and selected another biscuit. "Her voting shares. Brian has pretty well exhausted his seduction for her support in the merger I would think."

"Literally?"

"Of course not." Myles grunted. Having something like that leaked to her stupid women's club could be disastrous. This was what he meant about her intelligence; she was just too naïve. "Undertakings such as these require a certain delicacy, a shrewd kind of... argumentum ad judicium."

"I'm sorry, I-"

"An appeal to one's good judgment." He snorted with disgust, realizing she'd completely missed the point.

Miriam sipped her coffee quietly and smiled at his rigid back as he swanned his way back beside the window. "Do you anticipate his success, dear?" She asked politely.

"I do. Brian is most capable... and after all, they are old friends. Moira wouldn't expect bad advice from anyone within the company."

"She's not getting any, is she... bad advice?"

"Of course not. Good heaven's woman, listen to what I say." He slurped his coffee noisily and glared out into the garden.

Miriam finished her drink and replaced her empty cup on the tray. "Why will she be speaking to you, dear?"

"Miriam," he sighed. "I am the company lawyer, I have to advise Moira on the correct way to reassign her shares. One doesn't just hand them over willy nilly. I suggested to Peter that I may have to initiate some action; time is becoming crucial and a more experienced, measured hand is needed."

"You suggested that to Peter?"

"Yes- uuh yes, I did." He was puzzled by the tone of her question.

"Will she still have a good interest in the company afterwards?"

"Of course. All she's doing is trading them for new stock... with a higher value, actually. Why did you ask-"

"And will you uhm, realize anything from this merger?"

Myles fixed his eyes on her innocent face and suddenly began processing a series of thoughts and ideas. "Should do." He muttered absently. Miriam had suggested that with Moira's fifteen percent and his five, they matched Brian's strength in shares. Peter's suggestion may bear more fruit than anticipated.

"Well I'm certain Moira will welcome your counsel and experienced hand in making her decision."

"Yes... yes..." Myles gazed away into the garden, unaware that Miriam had taken the tray and retreated to another part of the house.

•••

Brian sat silently in his office as he listened to Peter's theory on their president's strategy.

Myles adjusted the lapels on his three-piece suit and placed a hand, thumb out, in his jacket pocket. "It is to be expected, Brian. After all, Barton sees this as an attack on his life."

"All it does," Brian said calmly, flattening his hand on his desk, "is underline his obsolete thinking. Brandy, cigars and back slapping don't decide outcomes anymore."

"I wouldn't underestimate his influence, Brian." Peter put in. "We're going to have to dig in if we don't want to get outflanked. How about your approach to Moira, what's happening there?"

"I'm working on it, okay?" Peter glanced at Myles and pulled a face. "What's our current strength?" Brian pressed on, his voice still tinged with anger.

Peter stood and rubbed his fingers together. "You might want to reign in that temper a bit, pal." He traded stares with Brian. "With Moira, we can carry the vote by a close but comfortable margin. That's why I'm saying we have to be careful. Barton can make all kinds of wild promises to some of the shareholders to win them back. Christ, with his personal wealth he might even buy some of them out!"

"I guess I'll have to crank it up a notch then. Moira will just have to see things our way." Brian's remark hung heavily over the room. Peter avoided eye contact, busying himself with stuffing papers into his briefcase.

•••

He answered the phone on the third ring, cautiously. The caller ID was blocked.

"Congratulations, I understand you've been taking advice from my husband."

He relaxed slightly. "You shouldn't be calling from-"

"Stop worrying." There was a silence. "So, I said congratulations."

"Thanks? I mean, thanks. It sounds like I should be congratulating you."

"I barely had to do anything."

"Except give me the idea with which to light the fuse. Moira is showing enough concern over my comments about his temper to put a small moratorium on the affair. They're still hot at it on the phone though."

"Do you think it will unfold as we discussed?"

"The wheels are turning as we speak. I passed along the need for her to get together with Myles; she agrees. Now you should stop worrying."

"Oh I'm not worried, this has nothing to do with me."

"Please, it has everything to do with you. Particularly from this point on."

"Hmmm, well I just don't consider my contribution in any way uhh... compromising."

He laughed and snorted a crude response, receiving one in kind. "I'll call you later." He hung up and tapped the receiver thoughtfully.

•••

Barton's WesCat Alliance cocktail counterattack took place on a warm, starlit evening with the strains of Sinatra crooning his cool, sexy ballads to the glittering cast of his orchestrated play. The crowd consisted of members of the idle rich to the busy rich as well as the shareholders and the inevitable glut of media, all cautiously shaking hands and wearing tight smiles as they probed for clues to one another's position. Moira, as directed by her husband, duty danced with the grey-coifed, flush-faced shareholders, enduring the absently roaming hands and returning them to their tolerantly patient wives with complimentary praise.

Barton held court beside the bar, fervently extolling the virtues of the WesCat family and the potential financial rewards to an audience of the same ilk. Forward as one major company, the company that scared the shit out the industry-that was his message.

"It's déjà vu all over again." Moira turned to find Brian holding out his arms for a dance. "Do you think this night might follow the same path?"

"I rather think not," she said, stepping into his embrace. "This is serious business with Barton and when he's geared up like he is tonight, nothing escapes his interest."

"Pity." He spun her around a few times and settled behind a large couple grunting in a hideous parody of a slow waltz. "Have you come to a decision yet?"

"Let me call you tomorrow. This is Barton's night and I feel obligated to stand by his side... at least until I hear how he made out." She fairly twinkled, restraining her pleasure over his blank expression.

The evening wore on and Barton came and went from the private lounge, sometimes looking euphoric, others, trampled to dust. Moira noticed several times that young, attractive women were surreptitiously slipping into the room at intervals and she sighed mightily at her husband's strategic behaviour. Not so different from your own, she chided. Peter bothered her several times for a dance and after the second, when he became overt in his samba technique, she politely told him to bugger off.

She noticed that afterwards he was sulking in a corner with Miriam Spenser-Forbin. Myles had surprised her again with his smooth agility on the dance floor and when he suggested they get together and talk about her shares and her responsibility to the board, she felt him stumble for the first time when she agreed to call the next day.

Feet and back aching, Moira stood bravely with Barton by the elevators as he bid his guests good night, squeezing arms encouragingly with final reminders on what was best for WesCat.

"God, I'm glad that's over." She shed her shoes and flopped back into the ballroom.

"It's only the beginning, dear." Barton headed straight for the bar and splashed a huge measure of scotch into a glass. "If tonight doesn't prove successful, we could be in big trouble."

"The company."

"You and me, Moira. We could be in big trouble. We have the majority of shares at the moment...so..." He let the sentence hang while he finished his drink, refilling before settling on a stool and facing her.

"I don't get into these things, Barton. You know that. This share business is over my little head." She walked over and pecked him on the cheek. "I'm glad you rented the suite, I'm bushed. See you in the morning, dear."

Barton watched her, slowly sipping his drink.