“No. But close. Mitch was several years older than me. He and my brother were roommates one year in college. We were married right after I finished high school.” She closed her eyes. The gentle friction of Patrick’s hand on the back of her neck was soothing, comforting. She’d been right about the strength in his fingers, she thought idly. “I’ve been thinking about what I could do,” she said slowly. “And I just don’t know.”
Patrick didn’t comment. “We talked about your family yesterday, but what about Mitch’s relatives?”
“His father died when he was in medical school. His mother lives in Tucson. She’s financially comfortable— at least enough to fly up here every year to visit us on Susan’s birthday, but...”
“But you wouldn’t want to owe her any favors.” It was gentle.
Camryn nodded, grateful for his perception. “She’s never even asked what sort of financial state Mitch left me in, and I get the feeling that she thinks the bed and breakfast is just something I do to make me feel important. And as for Mitch’s sister, the last time I saw her, she hit me up for a loan, so I don’t think she’d be much help.”
Patrick was smiling. “No, I can see that.”
That smile, she thought, was enough to make the average woman light-headed. It certainly made the kitchen lights look dim.
“Nevertheless,” he said gently, “it’s going to have to come from somewhere. Is there anyone you might borrow from? Mitch’s friends?”
“They all have successful practices now.”
“Have you kept in touch?”
“Not really,” she admitted. “Christmas cards—that’s about all.” She frowned. “There is one I could ask, I suppose. He and his wife stayed here at the Stone House last year when he came back to the university to apply for a job. They seemed to enjoy themselves, and she was very interested in the house. They’re living here in Lakemont now, and I suppose they might...” Her voice trailed off. It sounded like a very weak possibility, when she put it like that.
“It’s worth a try, Camryn. It’s not as if you’d be asking to borrow the whole amount, you see. I’ll hold up the paperwork till you’ve talked to him.”
He picked up another Danish from the basket she’d left on the counter.
His problem is solved, Camryn thought irritably. He’s not the one who has to call up that man and ask for cold cash!
“Help yourself,” she said coolly. “And as long as we’re talking about loans, you wouldn’t happen to have a little cash tucked aside that you’d like to invest in a solid small business, would you, Patrick?”
“Not exactly. Why?”
“I’m doing my best to cooperate, you see—trying to find people who might loan me money. If I just had some cash, I could finish off the top floor of my garage into a guest house. It would double my receipts.”
“Only if you had twice as many guests. How many do you have today?”
“Just Mrs. Marlow,” she admitted reluctantly. “But it’s still a good idea. Guests come in hordes, you know. When the university has a special event, I have to turn people away. It would be a good opportunity for you.”
“Is that why you went to all this trouble?” He waved the Danish under her nose. “To hit me up for a personal loan? My mother always warned me the surest way to a man’s wallet is through his stomach.” He frowned. “Did I get that right?”
“Not quite. And in case you’ve forgotten, I had no idea you were coming this morning, so all this work, as you put it, couldn’t possibly have been done with you in mind.”
“Too bad.” It didn’t sound as if it bothered him. “In any case, don’t look to me for a personal loan.”
“I’m disappointed. I thought bankers always had money.”
“So did I,” he said easily. “That’s why I chose the profession. It seemed only reasonable that hanging around where all the money is would help me acquire some, you see. So far it hasn’t worked very well.”
“You seem to have plenty of cash to invest in a Mercedes,” Camryn pointed out.
Sherry peeked around the door. “Is it safe to come in?” she asked in a stage whisper. She was carrying Mrs. Marlow’s discarded breakfast tray, and beside her was Susan. The child’s outfit looked as if she was going to a costume party as a rainbow, but at least she was dressed. Around her neck was the black cat, which was apparently pretending to be a fur stole. Susan marched across the room to show Ipswich off to her newfound friend.
Camryn seized the opportunity to glare at Sherry, who smiled and set the tray down. The basket of Danish had not been touched; a half-cup of coffee had been poured and left to grow cold.
Camryn sighed and started to clean up the mess. The work of producing Mrs. Marlow’s breakfast hadn’t irritated her, but the waste did. “Watch out,” she warned Patrick over her shoulder. “Just because Ipswich lets Susan drag him around like a rag doll doesn’t mean he’ll hold still for that sort of treatment from anyone else.”
But the warning was in vain; Ipswich was already snuggled into Patrick’s arms, with his neck stretched out so an expert hand could more easily scratch his throat. Camryn could hear his rough, deep purr from halfway across the room.
“Ipswich likes you,” Susan announced. “I like you, too, and so does Sherry. Does Mommy like you?”
“Of course she does,” Patrick murmured.
Camryn glared at him.
He winced, and added under his breath. “Well, maybe not. Three out of four isn’t bad.”
“Are you going to take my mommy out on a date? Sherry thinks you are.”
“No.” Camryn’s voice was firm.
At the same instant, Patrick said, “Actually, I wouldn’t mind.”
Of all the things he could have said, that was the least enthusiastic response she could think of. He could have said that perhaps some time he would. He could even have said that he’d like to, but that business and pleasure didn’t mix. But, of course, if he had said either of those things he would probably have been afraid that Camryn might think he actually meant it. Well, she’d leave him in no doubt of that!
“It’s very kind of you,” she said frigidly, “but I hope you’ll ignore Susan completely. I think she has simply been listening to Sherry too much.”
Sherry didn’t seem to hear. “I’ll even babysit,” she offered brightly. “How about tonight, Patrick? There’s a good movie on at the Galleria. Camryn’s been wanting to see it, but it’s kind of scary and she needs a strong shoulder to lean on.”
“Sherry!” There would have been a dire warning in Camryn’s voice, if only it hadn’t cracked in the middle.
Patrick McKenna bent over Susan to carefully hand the cat back, and as he stood up again Camryn realized that he was doing his best not to laugh. That made her even more irritable. He needn’t think that she was so desperate for dates that she had to have her friend’s and her daughter’s cooperation!
“Seven o’clock, Patrick,” Sherry said airily. “The movie starts at half-past, and you can go out for pizza or something later.”
Camryn’s voice was a sheet of ice. “I don’t believe that Mr. McKenna asked when he should come, Sherry.” Then she realized that she was only making a fool of herself with her protest; Patrick seemed to be enjoying the situation as the farce it was. Only Camryn was getting bent out of shape, and surely by now she ought to know what Sherry was capable of? She bit her tongue and gave her friend a cold little smile that promised reprisals later.
Sherry said promptly, “I told Susan I’d take her to the library, Camryn. Would you move your car out of the driveway, Patrick, so I can get mine out? What did you do with your convertible, anyway? Though I suppose it’s really not the weather to drive it in.” She reached for an umbrella from the stand behind the back door, captured Susan’s hand with the ease of long practice, and ushered Patrick out of the door, still talking so smoothly that Camryn didn’t even have a chance to say anything more.
Camryn stood in the center of the big, quiet kitchen
for a long moment. Then she swore, long and furiously— something she rarely allowed herself to do any more, now that Susan was big enough to imitate whatever she heard.
And Susan could be relied on to imitate—generally the very thing that her mother didn’t want her to repeat. Are you going to take my mommy out on a date? Susan hadn’t thought of that one by herself. If Sherry had spent all week thinking of a way to embarrass her friend, she couldn’t have found a more effective way.
“I’m going to get even, Sherry Abbot,” Camryn promised the empty room, “if it’s the very last thing I ever do!”
But as she went upstairs to change the sheets in Mrs. Marlow’s room, it wasn’t Sherry she was thinking of any more. It was the movie she wanted to see, and the moment, before the whole ridiculous situation had got out of hand, when she had found herself thinking about how much fun it would be to see it with Patrick McKenna.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sherry was properly apologetic. “I had no idea it was really important,” she said mildly, after Camryn had explained exactly why, if she ever pulled such a stunt again, Sherry could expect to be not only evicted from her apartment, but thrown bodily from the top-floor windows of the house.
“You didn’t know it was important?” Camryn stopped cutting up Susan’s hamburger and waved the knife threateningly in Sherry’s direction. “He was sitting here inspecting every bill I’ve received in the last three years, every cancelled check I’ve written, and every rental receipt I’ve issued, and you thought it was just an excuse to share my company? Sherry, you total nitwit!”
“Well, some men have a lot of trouble working themselves up to asking for a date,” Sherry said reasonably. “I thought he was one of them, from the looks of things. He certainly wasn’t making much progress, and you weren’t helping matters a bit.”
Of course, she thought, Sherry hadn’t been in the bank yesterday. She hadn’t seen the glitzy blonde clinging to Patrick McKenna’s arm, or she would have realized that he had no trouble along those lines. “The failure to make progress,” she said icily, “stemmed purely from a lack of interest.”
“That’s why I gave him a push.”
“A mutual lack of interest, Sherry. For all I know, the man’s married.”
Sherry got up to pour herself a glass of milk and to investigate the contents of the refrigerator. “I don’t think so. He didn’t have that married look about him. Are you going to eat here, Camryn, or wait and have pizza or something with Patrick after the movie? Or maybe he’ll take you someplace really elegant.”
Camryn closed her eyes in pain. “You can’t seriously think I would go to a movie with a man who didn’t even ask me himself, even if he should happen to show up at seven o’clock, which I assure you he isn’t going to do!”
“He’ll come,” Sherry said comfortably. “I’m willing to put a bet on it, if you like. What shall we do tonight, Susan, while your mom’s out on her date?”
*****
The truly annoying thing was that Sherry turned out to be right. Patrick McKenna was on the doorstep five minutes early, and when Camryn answered the bell, he came to attention and snapped a salute. “Reporting as ordered, ma’am,” he said.
Camryn tried to swallow a groan. She should have known better than to answer the door. But of course Sherry would have let him in, while Camryn herself could get rid of him right here. “You can’t mean you took that nonsense seriously?”
“Don’t you want to see the movie, after all? Sherry was telling me about it, and it sounded like a hit.”
He leaned into the narrow gap between the door and the frame, sliding a hand around the jamb. She’d have had to be heartless to close the door on his fingers, but she thought about doing it anyway.
“You don’t have to take pity on me,” she said. “I’m not going to pine away if I’m left at home for the evening, whatever Sherry thinks.”
“The shoe’s on the other foot.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s Saturday night. I’ve got no date. You wouldn’t want people to start talking about me, would you?” For a moment he sounded truly pitiful. “Would you really prefer to stay home rather than come with me?”
“Depends,” Camryn mused. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I always like to know my clients on a personal level. Then I can serve them better.” There was a twinkle in his eyes that belied the pompous tone.
“Do you mean I might have a better chance at getting my loan if I came?”
“Are you offering a bribe, Mrs. Hastings?” His smile flashed. “Keep talking; this is getting interesting.”
Camryn did her best to pretend he hadn’t said anything. “If I could convince you of what a reliable, responsible person I am,” she said almost to herself, “you might be inclined to give me the money. On the other hand, if you’re bored, it would probably mean I’d never get the loan. I think, on the whole, I’d be better off to stay home tonight and tend to my business. You certainly can’t hold that against me.”
“You really shouldn’t be rude to me,” he began.
“I know,” she said, in her best shrinking-violet voice. “You have my fate in your hands, you rogue.”
Sherry came into the hall from the kitchen, carrying a steaming mug. “Didn’t I hear the doorbell? Oh, hello, Patrick. You’re right on time. I guess this means you’re not married, after all, hmm?” She gave Camryn a cheeky grin and went up the first flight of stairs to the solarium.
“That girl is not going to live another week,” Camryn said between gritted teeth.
“Well, at least that would solve the problem of your mortgage. You wouldn’t need one in prison.”
“It would be worth it. Look, I appreciate the kind thought about the movie, but it really isn’t necessary.”
“Responsible, reliable people don’t make dates and then break them.”
“This isn’t a date, and I didn’t make it. It’s a manipulation, and neither of us would enjoy it.”
“I understand why you’re wavering about coming with me. You have quite a choice of entertainment for the evening,” Patrick said blandly. “You can go to the movie, where you won’t even have to make conversation with me, or you can stay home and listen to Sherry.”
There was a long instant of silence. Camryn sighed. “You do have a way of putting things into perspective, McKenna. All right. Give me five minutes to change.” She pulled the door open. “You can go up to the solarium and listen to her gloat. And if you want to drop a little arsenic in her herbal tea, feel free.”
It took her ten minutes to change, the first half of which she spent staring with distaste at her wardrobe. Nothing she owned seemed quite appropriate. Patrick, she couldn’t help but notice, had been wearing dark trousers and an open-necked shirt under a soft blue sports jacket. At least it wasn’t a pin-striped suit, she thought, but it wasn’t exactly casual, either.
Finally she decided that it would be better not to make too big a thing out of what was certainly not an important evening, so she pulled on an old pair of jade-green trousers and a moss- and jade-striped silk sweater from Sherry’s extensive collection. Her conscience twinged a bit at the idea of borrowing the sweater without asking, but she soothed it by reminding herself that Sherry owed her a favor or two.
Besides, Camryn thought, I’m certainly not going to shout down the stairs to ask if I can borrow it, and make Patrick McKenna think I’m going to any trouble for his benefit!
When she reached the solarium, Sherry was curled up on the couch, wrapped in a pink blanket that made her look as delectable as a strawberry parfait. “Nice sweater,” she said, with an elfin grin. “Where did you happen to find it?”
Camryn made a face at her.
“It took you long enough to decide what to wear.” Sherry turned back to the television screen.
For a moment, she thought Sherry meant that Patrick had changed his mind and gone away after all. There would be some relief in that, she thought.
Then she realized how much of the room was being taken up by Patrick, sprawled on his stomach on the rug with a coloring book open in front of him.
Susan, kneeling beside him, was thoughtfully selecting another crayon. She looked up when Camryn came in and said kindly, “Mommy’s here now, Patrick, and she doesn’t like to wait. You’d better go.”
He laughed, mussed her flaxen hair with a gentle hand, and rose to his feet in one fluid movement. “My popularity around here astounds me,” he murmured to Camryn. “They can’t wait to get rid of me.”
“You can help finish the picture next time,” Susan said generously.
“I’m sure Mr. McKenna would be delighted—if he comes again,” Camryn said. “Do I get a goodnight hug, Susan?”
“And now you’re trampling on my ego, too,” Patrick complained downstairs as he held her jacket. “I’ve never felt so unwanted in my life. All I was trying to do was be a good guy and do what was expected of me. I wouldn’t have put it past Sherry to turn up at the bank on Monday morning with a picket sign if I hadn’t come tonight.”
“That’s a thought,” Camryn said. “I could handcuff myself to the time lock on the vault and go on a hunger strike until I get my loan.”
“And sell the story rights to the tabloid newspapers,” he agreed easily. “Why didn’t I think of that myself?”
Camryn groaned. “I ought to have known you’d find a way to make money on it.”
“It’s a wonderful idea. I’ve been wasting my time appraising your furniture. You’ve got some that isn’t bad, you know.”
“Quite a bit of it came with the house.”
“Have you considered selling it?”
“No. I’d just have to replace it. I can’t run a bed and breakfast without beds.”
“But you don’t need all of it, surely? And it would help the cash flow.”
She stopped beside a dark-colored car parked at the end of the driveway. It was just a couple of years old, and it was nice enough, but it was nothing like the flamboyant silver Mercedes. Camryn remembered that Sherry had said he hadn’t been driving the convertible that morning, either. “You’re a fine one to talk about cash flow,” she said. “You have two cars? And you can’t loan me a bit of money?”
A Matter of Principal Page 5