As they turned the corner on to Kenosha Street the sight of the big cut-stone house, its red-tile roof glimmering in the warm sunlight, caught at her heart. Give it up, after she had worked so hard to keep it going?
“Never,” she said between her teeth. “There will be a way. There has to be a way.”
There was a car in the driveway of the Stone House, a small silver Mercedes convertible with the top down.
Camryn ran through her mental list of friends and concluded that she no longer knew anyone who could afford to drive that sort of car. And since she wasn’t expecting a guest, she didn’t bother to hurry her footsteps. Any door-to-door salesman who was driving that car was selling something she couldn’t afford, anyway.
As she and Susan came up the sidewalk hand in hand, Patrick McKenna turned from the front door and walked briskly across the wide porch to the steps. He stopped abruptly on the top step and looked down at them.
“No wonder you didn’t answer the door,” he said lightly. He’d pushed his jacket back, and his hands rested lightly on trim hips. His hair wasn’t even mussed, despite the convertible.
Perhaps banking paid better than she thought.
She hated to think what she looked like herself, after an afternoon in the park. Hot and sweaty and dusty, with her shorts crumpled and her hair wind-blown—he couldn’t have chosen a worse time.
“If I’d known you were coming to call, I’d have had the kettle boiling.” Camryn fished her key out of her shoe and unlocked the big door.
“You did invite me to come and see the Stone House.”
“Frankly, I didn’t expect that you’d do it. Certainly not so promptly.”
“I thought you’d appreciate getting it out of the way before the weekend.”
“Don’t you have any other customers to look after?” Why didn’t I come straight home this afternoon? she berated herself. The place looks as if it hasn’t been cleaned in a year.
Hope, however, was beginning to dawn in her heart. He’d had an opportunity to review her files, to confirm that she’d made her payments as faithfully... almost as faithfully, she reminded herself... as any bank could wish. Surely—?
“We didn’t part on the friendliest of terms this morning,” he reminded. “I thought if we could finish our discussion, perhaps you would better understand the bank’s position.”
Camryn’s heart dropped a bit. That didn’t sound promising. She felt a tug on her hand as Susan leaned around her to inspect Patrick McKenna. It was a bit odd, she thought. This warm-hearted and happy child was never shy at meeting the strangers who came to the Stone House. Usually she bounced right up and introduced herself. This time she was practically trying to hide.
It just proved that children had wonderful instincts. Sharks, wild dogs, and bankers—Susan had an inborn fear of all three.
“Whatever you like, Mr. McKenna,” she said, and led the way into the big entrance hall.
In mid-afternoon, the hall was always in soft shadow, except for the sunlight that spilled down the stairs from the solarium that opened off the first landing. The solarium, with its white wicker furniture and green plants and its view of the garden below, was normally Camryn’s favorite room, but it was also Susan’s play area, and she hadn’t gotten that far with her cleaning this morning. So she led Patrick McKenna into the formal living room instead.
“If you wouldn’t mind waiting a minute while I settle Susan for her nap,” she began. He nodded, and she hurried up the stairs to the child’s top-floor bedroom. Susan was so worn out that she went down without protest, and was asleep almost before her mother left the room. While the coffee perked Camryn arranged a neat tray, and after a moment’s consideration added a basket of muffins. It couldn’t hurt to give him something to do with his hands, she thought, and if he was eating she might even get the chance to have her say.
He was standing at the far end of the living room when she came in with the coffee, and she would have sworn he was reading the titles on the built-in bookshelves that filled the wall. But he showed no sign of embarrassment as he came to help her with the tray, and she concluded that he must have been simply looking out of the window instead. Too bad it wasn’t a little later in the season, she thought. The autumn flowers were going to be outstanding this year.
Don’t be foolish, she told herself. He’s not the average guest who might be persuaded to recommend the Stone House to his friends. The flowers wouldn’t matter a damn to him. You’re fighting for your life here, Camryn—don’t forget it.
She poured his coffee and said, with a weak attempt at humor, “I don’t suppose you came to tell me that the bank will be happy to give me the loan.”
“No, I’m afraid I didn’t. Mrs. Hastings, are you absolutely certain about not selling the house? It’s worth more than it was when you bought it.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“No, thank you.” The china cup looked fragile in his hand. “You’d have a small nest egg left to invest.”
“Would it be enough to live on?” she asked calmly.
“Of course not. But...”
“Please don’t forget that it isn’t just a matter of selling the house,” she pointed out. “It would mean giving up my business—the way I make my living.” She shook her head. “I’m staying here.”
“You know that it’s unrealistic to think you can handle that sort of debt—don’t you?”
“But I already am handling it.”
“By straining your income past the limits. When the loan was made, your husband estimated that he would be making at least ten times what you’re taking in now.”
“Isn’t it up to me how I spend my money? If I want to put most of it into my business...”
“What if you get sick and can’t do the heavy work this sort of business requires?”
She looked at him for a long moment and mused, “You’re a rare man, Mr. McKenna. Most males still think cleaning the house means lifting nothing heavier than a duster.”
“You haven’t answered the question.”
Obviously flattery wasn’t going to get her anywhere. “I’ve got some household help. I rent the big bedroom on the top floor as sort of a self-contained apartment, in return for a hand with the cleaning when I’ve got every room full.”
“What if the guests stop coming, Mrs. Hastings?”
“Can’t you ask that kind of question about any small business? That doesn’t make it likely to happen. Oh, be reasonable, Mr. McKenna. I can go to another bank, you know.”
“I almost wish you would. Then you might at least admit that I’m being as reasonable as I can. Do you have any assets that aren’t listed on that application? if you could pay off part of the balance, so you wouldn’t need such a large loan...’
Camryn shook her head. “If you’re asking if I have some dusty stock certificates tucked away in a shoe box somewhere—no, I don’t. I don’t have any gold bars hidden under my bed, either. But doesn’t my character count for anything at all?” She sipped her coffee. “I know; you don’t have to say it. You’re thinking I’m quite a character, all right.”
A muscle twitched beside his mouth, and for an instant there was a gleam of humor in those dark blue eyes. Then it was sternly repressed. “You said earlier today that you have no skills. Surely there is something that you can do?”
“Yes, there is.” She broke a vanilla muffin and buttered it, and then looked up at him. “I’m really very good at running a bed and breakfast. You should try these. They’re wonderful, if I do say so myself.”
The black cat jumped up on the couch beside Camryn and eyed the muffin covetously.
“See?” She fed the animal a morsel. “Ipswich even guarantees them. Which is one more reason I want to stay in the house—I’d have enough trouble finding an apartment I can afford without worrying about whether Susan can keep her cat there.”
He didn’t even argue that one. Instead he reached for a muffin. “Didn’t your husband have life insurance?�
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“Some, but most of the money went to paying off his medical school debts. I invested what was left in the bed and breakfast to get started.”
“I’m beginning to wonder why the bank let him borrow anything at all,” Patrick McKenna grumbled. “They should at least have demanded that he buy insurance to cover his debt. And didn’t it ever occur to him that you might need an income?”
Her voice was suddenly like a steel thread. “If you’re implying that Mitch was careless of my well-being, let me assure you that he certainly didn’t intend to leave me in this situation. In any case, it’s too late to argue about what Mitch could or should have done. If you take my house away from me, I don’t know what else Susan and I can do. From a purely financial standpoint, I’d be better off to go on welfare than to struggle to make ends meet on the sort of job I can get.”
He jumped up and paced across the room. “Anybody who could qualify for welfare has no business applying for a mortgage.”
Camryn leaned forward, her hands clasped. Her voice was low and passionate. “So why don’t you help keep me out of the system? Surely there is some way you can justify giving me a chance.”
“Mrs. Hastings, bankers get fired for making crazy loans. You have no reserves, nothing to carry you over a difficult period. An illness or a sudden drop in occupancy rates and you’d be done. If I made this loan, my job would be on the line.”
“Well, if you don’t, my life is.” She leaned back against the couch, her eyes closed. She was suddenly exhausted, drained of every trickle of energy. What was the use of trying to persuade him? She wished that he would just go away, before she started to cry. “The whole idea of banking is very simple, isn’t it? You won’t loan me the money unless I can prove that I really don’t need it at all.”
“Please don’t be sarcastic, Mrs. Hastings. Banks have rules—for good reason, too. Let’s take it again, from the top. Is there anyone in your family who might loan you some money? If you only weren’t delinquent, it would help.”
Camryn didn’t bother to open her eyes. “Do you think I haven’t already considered obvious things like that? My mother lives in Arkansas on an inadequate annuity left to her by my father; my only brother teaches algebra in an inner-city school in Chicago. And I have no aunts and uncles—rich or otherwise.”
“I’m sorry I asked.” He sighed, and added quietly, “The damnable thing is that when I listen to you explain why you want to stay here, it makes sense—despite all the rules.”
She opened one eye warily, and stared at him. He sounded as if he meant it.
“If there is anything that would allow an exception...” He sounded dissatisfied, as if he was grasping at straws, but Camryn wasn’t about to ask uncomfortable questions. “Perhaps if I reviewed your bookkeeping records it would give me some ideas.”
She cleared her throat and said, “Absolutely.” It was a husky, mellow whisper. “You can see anything you want.”
He smiled at her then, and in the dark blue eyes a lively flame of amusement danced. “Be careful how you say that,” he murmured. “I might conclude that you’re trying to bribe me.”
Camryn felt a deep, horrified flush start at the neckline of her T-shirt and rise till her whole face was a sheet of embarrassed color. “That was the farthest thing from my mind,” she began stiffly. “I certainly did not intend—”
The doorbell pealed, its rich, mellow tones ringing through the rooms. Gratefully, Camryn jumped up, dumping Ipswich out of her lap, and went to answer it.
On the porch, a woman was waiting, tapping her toes on the welcome mat. She was probably in her late fifties. Her lavender dress and matching coat were well cut, but not particularly suited to her angular figure and sharp features. Behind her a much younger man stood, with his hands in his pockets. He was shifting nervously from one foot to the other, and as soon as Camryn opened the door he stepped forward. “Mrs. Hastings? I’m John Marlow. I reserved a room for my mother for the weekend.”
Camryn opened her mouth to say, Yes, you did... starting tomorrow! Then she realized that, though she had never seen the young man before, he looked familiar, and she remembered that she had seen the same pleading look on her daughter’s face the day Susan had brought home a tiny black kitten and begged to be allowed to keep it. Whatever trouble this young man was in, he was appealing for help.
I wonder what sort of family squabble I’m walking into now? Camryn wondered. “Of course,” she said. “Won’t you come in, Mrs. Marlow?”
The woman sniffed, but she condescended to come inside. The expression of pathetic gratitude, in the young man’s eyes was almost payment enough, Camryn thought.
“I’d like to go to my room,” Mrs. Marlow said stiffly. “It’s bad enough to be shuffled off to a boarding-house instead of staying with my own flesh and blood.”
Boarding-house?
“Mother, I’ve explained that we just don’t have room in our apartment.” The young man turned to Camryn. “I’m sharing an apartment with three other guys while I finish my residency, and I can hardly ask my roommates to move out for the weekend. And we don’t have an extra bedroom.”
“John, I do not care to hear you discuss our family problems with strangers. Mrs. Hastings, I would like to retire to my room.”
Camryn closed her eyes for an instant, and pictured the master bedroom, with the bed stripped but not yet made up with fresh sheets. But the front bedroom was worse; in her fit of cleaning fever this morning she had even taken the curtains down to be washed. She fleetingly considered the other two guest rooms and dismissed them. They were certainly not grand enough to please Mrs. Marlow. No, it would have to be the master bedroom.
“Of course,” she said soothingly. “But perhaps you’ll sit down and have a cup of coffee while I put the finishing touches to your room?” She gestured towards the living-room and held her breath.
Mrs. Marlow sniffed again, but she allowed herself to be nudged towards the living room. She stopped in the doorway as Patrick McKenna rose from his chair. “Are you Mr. Hastings?”
Camryn wanted to swear. For an instant, she’d forgotten all about Patrick McKenna, but of course he would be there to see this. Of all the things he might have witnessed at the Stone House, Mrs. Marlow was the worst of her nightmares.
“Sorry,” he said easily, “but I’m afraid that honor isn’t mine.” He came across the room to Camryn. “Mrs. Hastings...”
She said, under her breath, “Look, I have to take care of my guest first. If you’ll just be patient till I get her coffee and make up her bed...”
“Do you always leave these things till the last minute like this?”
“I don’t run a sloppy business! I didn’t even expect her till tomorrow.”
His eyebrows went up.
Camryn sighed. “I suppose that sounds even worse, doesn’t it? But I promise I can explain. Give me ten minutes and I’m all yours.” Then she felt herself start to flush again.
He pulled a heavy gold watch out of his waistcoat pocket. “I’m charmed, but—”
“Not that I’m trying to keep you around for personal reasons!” she snapped.
“Of course you aren’t. And I’d love to stay, just to hear what you say next, but I have an engagement tonight. I’ll have to see your books another time.”
He was gone before she could even offer to bring her records to the bank on Monday.
An engagement? He must have a date with the blonde, Camryn thought. No man would dare keep her waiting. Or was his date just an excuse? Had he changed his mind altogether about helping her?
I must look like a careless fool, she thought. The kind who takes reservations and then forgets them. Some businesswoman I must look like. Damn all the Mrs. Marlows of the world!
The back door banged and Sherry came in, singing an old ballad, off-key but with enthusiasm. She stopped when she saw Camryn in the hallway. “Guess what,” she cried. “Proust worked after all—I found a new man in the college library.”
“New guest?” Sherry asked unnecessarily. “Charming sort, isn’t she? I’ll lock Ipswich up in my room for the duration. You don’t mind if he comes over after dinner? My new friend, I mean, not Ipswich. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to have a buddy for you.” She grinned unrepentantly. “But then, from what I saw pulling out of the driveway as I was coming in, you did pretty well yourself today. Tell me, what were you reading in the park to attract his attention, Camryn—Casanova’s memoirs?”
CHAPTER THREE
Camryn didn’t sleep well, of course, and when the alarm clock gave its characteristic asthmatic wheeze, as it always did just before shrieking at her, she was already sitting on the edge of her bed with her hand on the button. She yawned and went to push aside the curtains.
The pair of dormer windows in her bedroom looked out over the front of the house, towards the rising sun. Today, unfortunately, there was no sun to see—just the dim gray softness of a summer rainstorm, blurring the outlines of the world. On most days from her top-floor windows she could peek between the houses down the street and see Lake Michigan sparkling in the distance. Today the water was just another shade of drab grey, a reflection of the dark clouds.
Camryn sighed and pulled her cotton nightshirt over her head. No comfortable shorts and sandals today, or battered, soft jeans, either. She wasn’t going to face another one of those contemptuous looks from Mrs. Marlow if she could help it.
The sound of the shower woke Susan, who wandered in while Camryn was getting dressed and sat cross-legged at the end of the big bed, clutching her ragged teddy bear. “Ipswich is lonely shut up in Sherry’s room,” she announced. “I can hear him. Can I go play with him?”
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