Houses of Stone

by Kathy

  "Morning, ma'am," he cooed. "I didn't know you was here. Hope I'm not interrupting."

  Both statements were untrue. He must have known someone was there, he had seen the car. She was only too familiar with the look that had accompanied the second lie, she had seen it on other masculine faces.

  With a brusque nod of acknowledgment she turned to Cameron. "You should have told me you had another appointment, Mr. Hayes. I wouldn't have detained you so long."

  "My only appointment was with you," Cameron said in the same impersonal tone. "He's just leaving."

  "Oh, is this lady a client? Well, I sure don't want to interfere with your business, Cam. Sorry, ma'am. Hope I'll see you again."

  Karen did not echo the sentiment. Smirking and strutting, the young man returned to his pickup—a newer, brighter, fancier model than Cameron's—and drove off.

  "Thank you," Cameron said, tight-lipped and red-faced.

  "What for?"

  "Preventing Bobby from beating the . . . from beating me up. That's how he'll tell it. And that's what you thought was going to happen— right? You assumed I couldn't handle him and you figured he wouldn't start anything while you were present."

  "Was he about to start something?" Karen asked innocently.

  Cameron let out a long breath. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Have you finished for today?"

  "Yes. But I'll be back."

  His color had returned to normal. When he spoke, his voice was colorless and flat. "Any time, Dr. Holloway. Just let me know."

  Glancing into the rearview mirror as she drove off, she saw him ascending the ladder. He did not look in her direction.

  "Fifty-one five," Peggy repeated gleefully. "Hot damn!"

  She didn't mean "fifty-one dollars and five cents." She meant "fifty-one thousand five hundred dollars." Peggy's reaction to the price Simon had finally set assured Karen that Peggy was ready and willing to accept it, but the number sounded terrifying.

  "It's a lot of money," she murmured.

  "Cheap as dirt. You can thank the good old boy literary establishment for that," Peggy said cynically. "Men dominate the committees that determine how university money is spent. I could almost feel sorry for what's-er-name—Angelo—trying to convince a bunch of middle-aged male chauvinists that a Gothic novel by an unknown woman writer is worth that much. I'm surprised she got them up to fifty thou."

  "I'm surprised she didn't use her own money."

  "Probably doesn't have it."

  "How did you—" Karen stopped herself, but not quite in time.

  "I write best-selling sex manuals under a pseudonym," Peggy said, in a tone which, though amiable, indicated she had said all she intended to say on that subject.

  Simon's message had been waiting for Karen when she arrived home Sunday evening. There had been a number of other messages on her machine, including several from Peggy, increasingly irate in tone; Karen had called at once to tell her the good news and suggest they meet at the campus coffee shop next morning to discuss future plans.

  The news had taken Peggy's mind off her grievance for a time. Now she turned a critical stare on Karen. "I hope you aren't planning to rush off to Baltimore today."

  "No, I'm not."

  "You hadn't planned to go to Virginia, either. You didn't tell me you were going. In fact, you deliberately misled me. Don't think you can sneak off without me today the way you did last weekend."

  "I can't, can I?" Karen said quietly. "Not without the money."

  Peggy's eyes shifted. "I didn't mean it that way."

  "Yes, you did. I don't blame you." That was a lie too, but she made it sound convincing. "Let's get this out into the open, Peggy. I'm willing to accept your generous offer, but only as a loan. Strictly business. We'll go to a lawyer and draw up the necessary papers."

  Peggy was silent for a moment. Voice and expression were neutral when she replied. "If that's how you want it."

  "That's the only way I'll accept it." Another lie. She would have robbed a bank if there were no other way. She would have preferred to borrow from an impersonal source; a bank manager wouldn't lecture her about her personal habits and treat her like a two-year-old. But it would have taken weeks to get the money, even supposing she could persuade a bank to accept such doubtful collateral as a battered manuscript.

  "Deal," Peggy said. "Now would you care to tell me about your weekend, or is that none of my business?"

  "You'll be happy to hear that without your restraining influence I managed to behave like a complete idiot," Karen said cheerfully. She had made her point, and Peggy, no fool herself, had understood. Whether she would continue to accept the implicit conditions was another matter, but Karen didn't want her to harbor hard feelings.

  "Oh, yeah?"

  Karen glanced at her watch. She had a class in ten minutes, so she made it brief, describing only her encounter with Lisa Fairweather and Bill Meyer. One admission of fallibility was enough; there was no need to mention that she had also made a fool of herself with Cameron Hayes. "It wasn't very smart of me to go out there alone," she admitted. "But I don't think I deserved such total humiliation."

  Peggy was trying not to laugh. She lost. "Sorry," she sputtered. "But it's such a classic, banal Gothic plot! Being rescued by the dark handsome man you detest, in the presence of the beautiful Other Woman—a blonde, of course ..."

  "Meyer was thinking exactly the same thing, damn him. Conceited bastard ... He isn't handsome. What made it especially entertaining was having the Other Woman take me for a bag lady." She consulted her watch again. "I'd better get going. Have you any free time tomorrow or Wednesday? I'll try to set up an appointment with my lawyer. We might plan to drive to Baltimore on Saturday."

  "We?" Peggy repeated.

  "Of course."

  "Okay. I'm free tomorrow after three, and on Wednesday morning. Wait a minute," she exclaimed, as Karen rose to her feet. "You haven't told me what happened after you got caught."

  "I managed to get in touch with Mr. Hayes that evening. He took me out to the house next day; he's trying to clean the place up so he can sell it. He was very nice," she added, with a meaningful glance at her companion. "He didn't lecture me about my rude, careless behavior."

  Relations between them continued to be self-conscious, if not actually strained, for the rest of the week. Peggy was curt and businesslike during the meeting with the lawyer, and left immediately afterward. There was no time for friendly conversation; it was one of the busiest weeks in the academic year, and Karen was pushing herself to finish her work as quickly as possible. She pushed her students too, scheduling exams at her convenience instead of theirs and rejecting all but the most compelling requests for extensions on papers and reports. Their response convinced Karen that they were the whiniest, most self-pitying bunch she had ever taught, and her opinion was confirmed when she found out some of them had complained about her to the departmental chairman.

  "He had the gall to tell me I was obviously suffering from nervous strain, and that maybe what I needed was a more active social life," she reported bitterly. "Can you believe that guy?"

  They were on their way to Baltimore. Peggy was driving—and smoking. Karen had not objected to either. Some concessions were necessary to reestablish friendly relations; Peggy's manner had been decidedly stiff when they met that morning.

  Her efforts seemed to be succeeding. "Sure, I can believe it," Peggy said. "You'd better watch him, Karen. He's out to get you. Sexual harassment is a hot issue these days; he's not dumb enough to make a direct move or explicit remark, but he can drive you crazy without actually stepping over the line."

  "He hasn't got anything on me. I haven't neglected my work; I'm completely caught up except for turning in final grades in two courses, which I will do on Monday. And once I've published the manuscript . . ."

  "Fame and fortune will be yours." Peggy lit another cigarette. "If you found the right publisher, one with a little imagination and a lot of know-how, you could make
a lot of money out of the book. Enough to buy me out."

  "You won't be out unless you want out. I'm counting on you to help with the historical part. You can publish anything you like on that aspect."

  "I wouldn't publish without consulting you."

  "I know that."

  Peggy tossed her cigarette out the window and gripped the wheel so fiercely her knuckles whitened. "Then why the hell did you make such a fuss about the money? What difference does it make who has legal possession? It's your field, not mine; I wouldn't tackle a project like that, I have better sense. Did you think I'd sell the publication rights to someone else?"

  "Don't be an idiot!" Karen's voice rose to match Peggy's. "God, I'm sick of apologizing for things I never did and explaining statements that ought to be self-evident!"

  "Give it one more try," Peggy said in a strangled voice.

  "I have absolute confidence in your integrity. I didn't think for a moment that you'd double-cross me. I just want to own it myself. I want . . . control. For the first time in my life I want to be the sole determiner of what happens to me."

  "The first time? You've been an adult for several years."

  "Somebody's always trying to boss me," Karen muttered. "My parents, my professors, my ex-husband, Joe Cropsey . . . They all treat me as if I were a child. It's this damned chubby-cheeked face of mine, I suppose. You wouldn't understand—"

  "Whew." Peggy let out a long, relieved sigh. "So that's the problem. You think I don't understand? I'm five feet tall, for God's sake! You think it's tough being a chubby-cheeked woman, try being a short chubby-cheeked woman."

  "I don't think of you as short," Karen said, genuinely surprised.

  "Neither do I. That's the trick. But it took me a long time to figure it out." Peggy smiled wryly. "Well, that cleared the air. At least I hope it did. We're more alike than you might suppose, Karen. I've been through it too—the patronizing smiles, the condescending remarks, the pats on the head. And although it was a long time ago, I was once as prickly as you are. Yes, you are—with some reason—but take it from me, my friend, being constantly on the defensive makes life a lot tougher than it has to be. I'll try not to boss you if you try to bear in mind that I boss everybody. It's one of the privileges of age. Nothing personal."

  "I'll try," Karen agreed, still in a mild state of shock. Peggy was so mature, so respected, so completely in control of her life, it was almost impossible to believe she had ever been shy and insecure. With a violent effort of imagination Karen tried to picture Peggy as a timid young girl. She couldn't do it.

  "So where do we go from here?" Peggy asked.

  "To Virginia. I'm leaving on Monday, as soon as I turn in those exam scores and clear up a few odds and ends. I talked to Cameron Wednesday; he said he'd find me a room or an apartment. I can't afford to stay in a motel for weeks on end."

  "Weeks," Peggy repeated. "That long?"

  "I can work on the manuscript there as well as anywhere," Karen argued. "Maybe the ambience will inspire me."

  "Be funny if it turns out to be the wrong house," Peggy said. "You still don't know for certain."

  "I have a hunch."

  "Oh, great. I can't go with you, Karen." She gave Karen a sidelong smile and added, "No, I'm not sulking. I really can't. I promised a friend I'd come for a visit. He's been ill and he ... What's the matter?"

  "Nothing."

  "Now you're sulking. I'll be back in a week or ten days. Have you found out when the auction is to be held?"

  "Memorial Day."

  "The delay does makes sense, at that," Peggy said thoughtfully. "Memorial Day and Labor Day are the big weekends for country auctions. They're hoping to attract the city slickers. Well, I'll be back by then. I hope you won't take offense if I suggest that my experience could be useful."

  "No." Karen decided she might as well admit the truth, before Peggy misinterpreted her frown. "I'm in trouble," she admitted. "Joan and I were supposed to go to Nag's Head for a week, right after graduation.

  To unwind. I forgot about it until you mentioned your friend." " 'Were supposed,' " Peggy repeated. "You're going to cancel?"

  "What else can I do? Don't answer that! I've been waiting for weeks already. Having to postpone it another week would make me crazy. I'll just have to think of some excuse for Joan."

  "You could tell her the truth."

  "I don't want her to—" Karen stopped. "Maybe I should, at that."

  "Truth is not only more virtuous, it's a helluva lot easier in the long run," Peggy muttered. "You can't keep the manuscript a secret much longer. Too many people know about it."

  The accuracy of Peggy's assessment was brought home to Karen when they arrived at the bookstore to find that Simon was—reluctantly— entertaining a guest. His guarded look was sufficient warning; when the other man advanced to greet her, smiling amiably, his hand outstretched, Karen bit her tongue and kept her mouth closed. However, she could not bring herself to shake hands with him.

  "I'm leaving," Meyer said, before she could speak. "Mr. Hallett has already explained you have a business appointment." He turned to Peggy, offering the hand Karen had rejected. "Dr. Finneyfrock? I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you. I'm Bill Meyer."

  "How do you do?" Peggy gave him her hand, and a smile as broad and hypocritical as his. "I've heard a lot about you, Dr. Meyer."

  "How nice. Allow me to congratulate you, ladies. May I have the additional pleasure of taking you to lunch after you've concluded your business? Mr. Hallett too, of course."

  "Why not?" Peggy said, before Karen could refuse.

  "Good. I'll wait in that charming little bar across the street. Take your time."

  The door closed behind him with a musical tinkle.

  "I'm sorry," Simon began.

  "It's not your fault." Karen gave the closed door a resentful scowl. "He doesn't know we were in that bar, does he? If that son of a bitch knew I was following him ... He led me on a wild-goose chase that day, through the worst traffic in Baltimore, in the rain ..." Rage choked her.

  "Cool it," Peggy said. "So what if he did? You've won and he's lost."

  "Perhaps he is only being a courteous loser," Simon suggested.

  "Sure," said Karen.

  Their business was soon concluded. As Karen's hands closed over the precious bundle she saw that Simon's eyes were fixed on her and that his expression was not that of a man who has just accepted a large check. She smiled at him. "Thanks, Simon. Thanks for letting me win."

  Simon shook his head. "I hope I won't regret it."

  "The check won't bounce," Peggy said cheerfully.

  His dour expression brightened as he turned to her, offering one of the small glasses he had filled from a cut-glass decanter. "That was my chief concern, of course."

  Peggy insisted they all accept Meyer's invitation. "He's up to no good," she declared with obvious relish. "But we may as well find out what he wants. If the three of us can't outwit him we ought to be ashamed of ourselves."

  Simon rolled his eyes heavenward. "I suppose I must join you. The superior intelligence of an older and wiser man is obviously needed."

  Meyer had been watching for them. They took his car—Simon in front with Meyer, "ladies" in the back. Typical, Karen thought. Peggy let out a gurgle and poked Karen in the ribs when he pulled up in front of one of Baltimore's most expensive restaurants. "He's definitely up to no good," she mouthed.

  They drank another toast, in imported Chablis. Peggy studied the menu with an anticipatory expression that made it difficult for Karen to keep her face straight. As she had expected, Peggy ordered the most expensive entree available.

  Meyer directed the conversation skillfully, sticking to neutral subjects until their orders had been delivered and the obsequious waiter had left. Then he opened fire.

  "I hope your ankle is better, Karen?"

  Simon didn't choke on his food or demand an explanation; he was far too well-bred. But the look he gave Karen assured her that she
was due for a lecture when the truth came out, as Meyer intended it should.

  "It's fine," she said. "Not a twinge."

  "I'm glad we arrived when we did," Meyer mused. "I shudder to think what might have happened if you had been trapped in that filthy hole, unable to climb out, with the water rising and night coming on."

  Simon did choke then, and Karen lost her precarious hold on her temper. "You've been reading too many Gothic novels, Bill," she snarled. "I stumbled into a window well, Simon. It was a basement window, and the hole was less than five feet deep. I could easily have gotten out by myself. My ankle was twisted, not sprained, and the water was three inches deep."

  "All the same, you were taking a dangerous risk, going to such an isolated place alone," Meyer said. "I'm surprised you would let her do it, Dr. Finneyfrock."

  "I'm not her keeper," Peggy retorted, while Karen sputtered speechlessly. "She doesn't need one, even if she is a woman. Seems to me you've got some explaining to do yourself, Dr. Meyer. What were you doing there? Mr. Hayes is the executor of the estate. You didn't have his permission."

  "I was accompanied by Miss Fairweather, who is one of the heirs. Come to that," Meyer added gently, "Karen didn't have Mr. Hayes's permission either."

  Simon's head had been turning from one speaker to the other. Now he said, "She was in touch with him, however. I didn't give you his name, Dr. Meyer."

  "Karen is aware of that, Mr. Hallett. Your integrity has never been in question." Meyer leaned back, smiling smugly. "I reasoned it out myself."

  "But you haven't any right," Peggy began.

  "Ah, but I do. Let's be candid, shall we? Cards on the table."

  "That," said Karen, "I would like to see. No, Peggy, let me speak for myself. Dr. Meyer is correct. We can't prevent him from pursuing his own inquiries. Publication of the manuscript is the main issue, but the identity of the author is also important. If my honorable colleague can figure that out before I do he diminishes my achievement and adds further luster to his distinguished career. A nice guy would give up gracefully and admit I have a moral, if not legal, right to pursue that search. But you're not a nice guy, are you, Bill?"