“True,” Molly admitted. “But I have hopes.”
“I trust you do.” Venicia made a tut-tutt sound. “Pity to think of all that money sitting around waiting to go to a worthy cause. Jasper would have been so disappointed.”
“I know.” Molly smiled.
She was very fond of Venicia. Her aunt had always been part of her life. Venicia had offered comfort and support in the traumatic period following the death of Molly’s mother. Years later, in the wake of the failed experiment that had taken the lives of the Abberwick brothers, Molly, Kelsey, and Venicia had grieved together and consoled each other.
Venicia was a slightly plump, energetic woman in her mid-fifties. Shortly after the patent royalty checks had begun arriving on a regular basis, she had discovered an abiding enthusiasm for trendy fashion. Tonight she was wearing a gold-studded, purple silk jumpsuit, huge purple and gold earrings, and several pounds of gold necklaces.
“Not much point in having a well-endowed foundation if you can’t find anyone to fund,” Cutter observed. His bushy gray brows bounced as he chewed vigorously on his steak.
“Jasper is probably turning over in his grave,” Venicia murmured. “He and Julius were both so eager to help out other financially strapped inventors. They both spent most of their lives scrounging for cash for their projects. They wanted to make it easier for others who found themselves in their position. I wonder why it is that so many inventors are unable to handle finances.”
Cutter shook his head sympathetically. “Unfortunately the same brilliant mind that can focus so keenly on invention is often not very good with the financial aspects of the work.”
“How true.” Venicia sighed. “Neither Jasper nor my husband could be bothered with such concerns. Jasper was worse than Julius, truth be known. He really got into deep trouble with the banks on a couple of occasions, didn’t he, Molly?”
“Yes.” Molly concentrated on her spicy Thai-flavored pasta. It made her uncomfortable to discuss Jasper’s lamentable money habits outside the family. And although it appeared that he soon would be a member of the clan, Cutter Latteridge had not yet made the transition.
“I do believe Jasper’s family would have wound up on food stamps after Samantha died if it hadn’t been for Molly,” Venicia told Cutter. “Poor girl had to drop out of college to go to work in order to keep a roof over their heads.”
“Dad more than made up for it in the end,” Molly reminded her quietly. “That patent he took out for the industrial robotic systems will provide a large, steady income for years.”
“But the money came too late for you, my dear,” Venicia said wistfully. “You had already made a success of your tea and spice shop by the time the royalties started arriving.”
Molly shrugged. “Depends on your point of view. I had the satisfaction of achieving my success with my own efforts.”
“An excellent attitude.” Cutter gave her an approving look. “And you should be commended for not squandering the income from those patents on frivolous things. I’m sure Jasper Abberwick would be pleased to know that you’ve channeled so much money into his foundation.”
“She’s done exactly what Jasper would have wanted,” Venicia said proudly. “Goodness knows she’s been generous to me, and she’s taken excellent care of Kelsey. There’s plenty left over for the foundation.”
Cutter assumed a grave expression. “Excellent cause. Never enough money for invention, sad to say. Even at the corporate level, research and development funds are always lacking. This country needs to invest much more into its inventive brains if it wants to maintain a competitive edge in the global economy.”
Molly politely tuned him out, as she often did. She had nothing against Cutter. It was hard not to feel tolerant if not downright friendly toward him. He was an affable man who enjoyed playing host. He was gallant and solicitous toward Venicia. But he did have a tendency to pontificate.
Odd, how she never really minded when Harry launched into a lecture, Molly thought, amused. Harry never bored her. Admittedly, he occasionally tried her patience, but he never bored her. Even sitting in her kitchen watching him dismantle the black box that had been left at her front door had been anything but boring.
Cutter was another matter. He was a retired engineering executive who had a tendency to hold forth on whatever subject was being discussed. He considered himself an expert on everything.
Cutter was in his late fifties, a year or two older than Venicia. Balding and blunt-featured, he had the ruddy looks and sturdy build that hinted of a childhood spent on a farm.
Molly had once asked him why he had retired at such an early age. He had given her a kindly smile and allowed as to how he’d come into some family money. In addition, he’d taken advantage of a very generous early retirement plan offered by his firm. Life was short, he’d explained. He had wanted to enjoy it while he was still relatively young and in good health.
After he and Venicia had met on the spring cruise, they had been inseparable. Their engagement had been announced a month ago.
“…Don’t you agree, Molly?” Cutter asked.
It was the note of concern in his voice that brought Molly’s attention back to Cutter. She gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. What was your question?”
“I said,” Cutter repeated patiently, “don’t you think it’s a little strange that your high-priced grant proposal consultant can’t seem to find any worthwhile projects for you to fund?”
“I’ve discussed the problem with him.”
“How many proposals has the foundation received?”
“About a hundred.”
“And this Dr. Trevelyan hasn’t approved a single one.” Cutter frowned. “Odd. Very odd. My experience in the corporate world suggests that at least five or ten percent of those proposals should have been solid.”
Venicia looked at him with some surprise. “Five or ten?”
Cutter hacked off another chunk of beef. “At least. I’m not saying one would want to fund all five or ten, but there should have been that many that warranted serious consideration.”
“Statistics can be tricky,” Molly said. For some reason she felt compelled to defend Harry’s decisions. “One hundred grant proposals isn’t a very large sample.”
“Quite true,” Cutter agreed. “Still, one does wonder what this Dr. Trevelyan is up to.”
“Up to?” Molly gave him a sharp look. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing, I’m sure,” Cutter said soothingly. “Nevertheless…” “Nevertheless, what?” Molly demanded.
“I would advise caution, my dear,” Cutter said.
“Caution?”
“You’re new at this sort of thing.” Cutter put down his knife and regarded her with a slightly troubled frown. “Bear in mind that there is always a great deal of money to be made in the administrative end of any charity operation. An unscrupulous person in Trevelyan’s position could make himself a tidy fortune in consulting fees over a period of time.”
“I don’t believe Harry would use his position to con me.” Molly realized that she was inexplicably incensed by what had been nothing more than a reasonable warning from a man who had seen more of the world than she had. “I’m aware that there is no shortage of embezzlers and frauds hanging around waiting to take advantage of foundations such as mine, but I can promise you that Harry Trevelyan isn’t one of them.”
Cutter raised his heavy brows. “The more charming they are, the more clever they are, my dear.”
“Harry isn’t particularly charming,” Molly muttered. But he had given her very similar advice, she reminded herself.
“No offense,” Cutter said gently, “but he does appear to have you eating out of the palm of his hand.”
“That’s nonsense,” Molly said.
Venicia touched her napkin to her lips and gave Cutter a wor
ried look. “Do you think that Dr. Trevelyan might be milking the foundation with outrageous consulting fees?”
“I’m not making any accusations,” Cutter said.
Molly’s fingers tightened on her fork. “I should hope not. Besides, Harry’s fees aren’t outrageous.”
Venicia and Cutter both looked at her.
“Okay, they’re on the high side,” Molly admitted. “But they’re within reason. Especially given his qualifications.”
Cutter snorted politely and went back to his steak.
Venicia glanced at him and then turned to Molly with an uneasy expression. “I do hope you haven’t gotten yourself tangled up with someone like that dreadful Gordon Brooke again, dear.”
Molly winced. “Trust me, Harry Trevelyan has nothing in common with Gordon Brooke.”
Cutter cleared his throat to draw Molly’s and Venicia’s full attention. “As I said, administrative costs are difficult to control in any organization, especially a nonprofit foundation. A trustee in Molly’s position must be on her guard.”
“Harry Trevelyan is not a thief or a swindler,” Molly said fiercely.
Cutter sighed. “I never said he was. I’m merely suggesting that a charitable trust is very vulnerable to abuse. Anyone can call himself a consultant, after all.”
Venicia nodded sagely. “Cutter is quite right. One reads about charities and foundations being defrauded all the time. You will be cautious with your Dr. Trevelyan, won’t you, Molly?”
Molly stabbed her fork into a heap of pasta. She’d been forced to be cautious all of her adult life. She’d had too many responsibilities weighing on her to allow her the luxury of taking a few chances. She was nearly thirty years old, and there was finally a glimmer of excitement on the horizon. What’s more, she was free to explore that glimmer.
Molly smile blandly. “You know me, Aunt Venicia. I’m the soul of caution. I’ll be careful.”
Molly scrutinized Kelsey one last time as the passengers began to file on board the plane. “Are you sure you have everything you’re going to need?”
Kelsey rolled her eyes. “If I’ve forgotten anything, you can send it down to me.”
“I’m fussing, aren’t I?”
“Yes, you are.” Kelsey chuckled. “I’m only going to be gone for a month.”
“I know.” Molly gave her sister a misty smile. “But this is a sort of trial run for me. A taste of what it’s going to be like when you leave for college in the fall.”
Kelsey’s expression grew serious. “I’ve been giving that some thought. I talked to Aunt Venicia. We both think you should sell the house, Molly.”
Molly stared at her in amazement. “Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m not. The mansion is too big for you to live in all by yourself.”
“It’s no trouble to keep up, thanks to Dad’s cleaning robots. I know how to maintain them.”
“That’s not the point,” Kelsey insisted. “The Abberwick mansion will be just too much house for you when you’re there all alone. And it’s filled with the past, if you know what I mean.”
“I understand, Kelsey, but I don’t mind that part.”
“I think you will when you’re rattling around in that big old house all by yourself. Promise me you’ll at least consider selling it. You could get yourself a modern downtown condo.”
“But, it’s our home. It’s always been our home.”
“Things will change when I leave for college.”
Molly looked at the sister she had raised to womanhood and saw the future in Kelsey’s intelligent eyes. “Believe me, I realize that.”
Of course things would change. Molly told herself she had always known that this moment would arrive. Kelsey was about to start her own life. Her talent and brains would take her far from the crazy old ramshackle Abberwick mansion. It was the way of the world.
“Please, Molly, don’t cry.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.” Molly blinked very rapidly to clear the moisture from her eyes. “Listen, have a great time at the workshop.”
“I will.” Kelsey shifted her backpack and started toward the gate. She looked back once. “Promise me you’ll think about selling the house, okay?”
“I’ll think about it.”
Molly waved good-bye until Kelsey disappeared from view down the ramp. Then she reached for a tissue. When she realized that a single tissue wasn’t going to be sufficient for the task at hand, she headed for the women’s room.
It wasn’t her promise to her sister that was on Molly’s mind later that afternoon as she and Harry drove toward Hidden Springs. It was the one she had made to her aunt the previous night at dinner.
I’ll be careful.
She did not know which should concern her the most, the safety of the Abberwick Foundation assets or the safety of her own heart. She had a nasty suspicion that she was falling in love with Harry Trevelyan.
Maybe it was just sexual attraction, she reassured herself.
She slanted a sidelong glance at him. His powerful, elegant hands appeared relaxed and yet in complete control as they gripped the wheel. Quiet competence radiated from him no matter what the circumstances, she thought. There was a core of strength in him that compelled respect on a very primitive level.
If this was just passion, it was heady, potentially dangerous stuff. I’ll be careful.
Right. She would be careful the way a mountain climber was careful when approaching Everest. Careful the way a spelunker was careful when descending into a deep cave. Careful the way an astronaut was careful when stepping out into space.
“What kind of car is this?” Molly asked curiously. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one quite like it.”
“You haven’t. It’s one of a kind at the moment. It’s a Sneath P2. One of a series of prototypes. Friend of mine designed and built it. It’s got the aerodynamics of a racing car, the strength of a well-made European touring car, and an engine which is supposed to go for years at a time without a tune-up.”
“Amazing. Why did your friend give it to you?”
“I helped him obtain the venture capital he needed to build the prototypes.”
Molly gave him an inquiring glance. “I think of you as an academic type, but I suppose in your line of work you come into contact with investors all the time.”
“Yes,” Harry said evenly. “But unlike the Abberwick Foundation, they all want to back projects that show real potential for repaying the investment.”
Molly chuckled. “Me, I just want to throw the money away.”
“How did things go at the airport this morning?”
“Fine.” Molly was startled by the quick change of subject. “Why do you ask?”
“It feels strange when they leave home, doesn’t it? I know your sister is only going away for a month this summer, but in the fall, it will be for real. That’s when you realize that things have changed forever.”
Molly smiled wryly. “Okay, so I cried my eyes out in the rest room after she left. I’m all right now.”
“Glad to hear it. Try to look on the bright side. No more rock music posters in their bedrooms and no more lying awake at night waiting until they finally come home. Look at me. I’ve been teen-free for two years now, and I’m a new man.”
He understood, Molly thought. He was trying to make light of the turning point she had faced that morning, but he knew what it had been like for her. Harry had been through the same experience, accepted the same responsibilities.
“I’ll take your word for it,” she said. Oh, my God. This is getting serious.
Harry lapsed back into silence. The beautifully tuned engine of the exotic car hummed to itself. Molly settled down into the leather seat and watched the lush farmlands speed past the window. In the distance the Cascades rose toward a clear, blue sky. The future, which had seemed to be sh
rouded in mist a few hours ago, began to look bright once more.
The silence lengthened. Molly stirred and glanced at her watch. She realized that Harry had not said a single word for nearly twenty minutes. It wasn’t the lack of conversation that had begun to bother her. It was the gathering tension she felt. It was radiating from him.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No.” Harry did not look away from the road. “I was just doing some thinking.”
“You’re not looking forward to this trip, are you?”
“Not especially.”
“This may sound like a dumb question, but why are we driving all the way to Hidden Springs if you aren’t anxious to see your relatives?”
“I told Josh I’d have a talk with his grandfather,” Harry said. “Leon is giving him a hard time. He’s leaning on Josh. Trying to convince him that he doesn’t need to finish college.”
“Josh’s grandfather would be your uncle, right?”
“Right. My father’s younger brother.”
Molly thought about that. “Why didn’t he take charge of his grandson after Josh’s father was killed?”
“That would have been difficult. Uncle Leon was in jail at the time.”
“Jail.” Molly turned her head to stare at him. “For heaven’s sake, why?”
Harry slanted her an unreadable glance. “He was awaiting trial on charges resulting from a dispute he had with a county sheriff.”
“I see.” Molly digested that news. “What sort of dispute?”
“Uncle Leon was screwing the sheriff’s wife. He and the lady were discovered by her husband in a motel room. The sheriff was understandably pissed.”
“Oh.” Molly hesitated. “I can see why the sheriff was angry, but an affair doesn’t constitute grounds for arrest.”
“The sheriff nailed him for auto theft, not for messing around with another man’s wife.”
“Auto theft?” Molly repeated weakly.
“Uncle Leon and the lady used the sheriff’s car to drive to the motel.”
“Good grief. That wasn’t very smart.”
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