Silk came to inquire about her visit to Mack’s apartment and Bridey picked her up, glad to have someone to talk to.
“ ‘Come see my terrace,’ he said. ‘Look at the lovely view. I’ll make you a cup of coffee.’ Hah! I should have realized. He practically seduced me—with a bunch of magnolia trees yet—and it made me forget he means to take all this away from us. How could he? Oh, Silk, it’s not fair!”
She pressed her forehead against the soft space between Silk’s ears.
“Would you believe—oh, my dear—would you believe,” she whispered into the velvet of Silk’s fur, “I let that man kiss me. In spite of everything, I let him kiss me!” But she couldn’t help remembering. “And when he did, it was like I went riding off somewhere out in space. Like my head filled up with air and there was music somewhere and perfume all around . . .”
She rubbed her cheek against Silk’s face. She was swept up in the memory of that kiss, and her anger and anxiety got twisted into the memory.
“Oh, Silk. It was truly, really truly awesome!”
Chapter Eleven
“You what?”
“You heard me.”
“Oh, Bridey. Omigod, Bridey!”
Marge was so astonished she could only keep repeating the words. “Omigod, Bridey!” She had meant to make this a quick call between finishing her Tuesday morning meetings and diving into all the work that was waiting on her desk, but Bridey’s account of last night’s experience drove everything else out of her mind. The idea of fainting at a man’s kiss . . . well! It was just too delicious!
“I can’t believe it.” She laughed. “I never heard of such a thing. Bridey, you are absolutely such a Victorian! No girl gets the vapors nowadays. It’s just too wonderful. This man must be absolutely dynamite!”
“He’s not dynamite. Not even! He’s just a guy who doesn’t happen to have my welfare at heart and who just happened to kiss me. You know, I have been kissed before, Marge. It’s not like I’m twelve years old or something. It’s nothing. It doesn’t mean a thing.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“No, really. It must have been something I ate, or something. Maybe it was the scent of the flowers.” She had to laugh, too. The whole thing seemed pretty silly now. “Anyway, I think I scared the starch right out of him. He got all confused and tried to carry me into his bedroom.”
“His bedroom!”
“Well, he had to put me down somewhere, didn’t he?”
“Doesn’t sound confused to me!”
“Well, whatever. Anyway, I came to and made him let me go. And I was out of there soon enough, before things got out of hand.”
“Oh, shoot.” Marge’s voice revealed serious disappointment. “That is, you did the right thing, I guess. But still, it would have been sort of interesting if you—”
“Don’t even go there!” Bridey interrupted her. “I don’t even want to think about it. This man is nothing but trouble for me, Marge. The last thing I need is to get all weak-kneed about him.”
“Bridey, sweetie, this is me, Marge, you’re talking to. You can protest all you want, but I think you’re falling for this Mack Brewster. Girls don’t faint over just any guy, and I hear something in your voice that tells me—”
“You’re wrong, Marge.” Bridey brushed off her friend’s suggestion. “You’re just hearing your own overheated romantic fantasies. There isn’t anything at all in my voice—”
She was interrupted by the call-waiting signal.
“Hold on a minute,” she said. “I’ve got another call.”
She put Marge on hold, and when she clicked on the second call, she heard Gerald Kinski on the line.
“Bridey?” The lawyer sounded harried, more rushed than usual. “Bridey, I haven’t much time, but I’ve just received some information I thought I should pass on to you. I’m afraid it’s bad news.”
“Bad news?” Her heart dropped.
“We’ve just received notice that the Six Twelve co-op board is going full steam ahead with their action against the will. The papers have been served and the board is apparently serious about taking over that apartment as soon as possible. We’ll fight it, of course, but I have to say I think their case isn’t entirely without merit. They’ve sent me a copy of the bylaws and the Willey proprietary lease. It’s all a lot of legal mumbo jumbo, of course, and I don’t have time to explain it now, but here’s the bottom line: they’ll try to convince the court that, according to the rules, the apartment may be conveyed only to a family member. Our position will be that this is actually a transfer to a trust, which I believe is permitted by the co-op rules. Maybe, with luck, and if the judge likes cats . . .”
Bridey could hear the uncertain tone in his voice and knew he was less than optimistic about his chances of convincing anyone. After all, $70 million to a couple of pets might just raise some hackles, especially judicial hackles.
This was awful news. Gerry’s phone call was dumping her even deeper into despair, bringing a hard reality still closer.
“If you can’t convince the court,” she said, “and the board wins, how much time will I have?”
“Hard to say. If they really push it, maybe not more than a couple of weeks.”
The wave of disappointment that crashed over her was powerful enough to make her gasp. She felt tears welling up and had to force herself to remember that she was no longer a little girl; she was old enough to know that disappointments are part of life. But oh, it really was hard. Everything had started out so beautifully, and now this!
“I’m really sorry, Bridey.”
“I know, Mr. Kinski.” Silk and Satin had come to sit next to her, as though they knew she needed comforting, and as she stroked their backs, they arched against her in sympathy. She forced back the tears and kept her voice as normal as she could. “I know, and I appreciate your calling to let me know. Do you think I should start looking for another place?”
“Oh no. I don’t think so, not yet. Let me feel them out and see if we can at least get a delay before we have to go to court. If they don’t have a firm offer from a buyer lined up yet, they may be willing to slow things down a little. Give you a little extra time.”
Her eyes went to the wall, as though she could see through to the apartment next door.
“I wouldn’t count on them not having a buyer. Mack Brewster wants this place, and I think he’s the one who’s pushing them. But who knows,” she added as brightly as she could, trying to muster some optimism, “maybe you’ll be successful and Henrietta’s will is going to stand up.” If only saying it could make it so.
“That’s the spirit, Bridey. Please be assured we’ll do our best.”
“I know you will, Mr. Kinski.”
“Oh, by the way . . .” He’d been about to hang up and then remembered something else. “Speaking of Mack Brewster. I had my associate do a little research and here’s what we found out about Mackenzie Brewster’s business. His father was Llewellyn Brewster, one of the founders of Harmon and Brewster Publishers. They’re one of the oldest publishing houses in New York. When Llewellyn died, his son took over the firm.”
Publishing. So that’s what he does. I should have guessed, from all those books in his place.
“The firm’s been around for ages,” Gerald continued. “They handle scholarly works mostly, nonfiction and research materials. History, political science, that sort of thing. Very solid company, and very, very posh. The son seems to be in the family tradition, deals only with the most intellectual stuff. I hear he’s supposed to be very staid and conservative. My sources tell me he went to all the right schools, did a tour in the Navy, belongs to a couple of good clubs. Gets seen around town with some of the usual bright young women, but no one steady. New York magazine covered him last year in an article on New York’s new crop of eligible bachelors. Thought you might like to know.”
“Thanks, Mr. Kinski. I’m sure he’s a very upright individual.” She tried to keep the sarcasm down, but it was an effort
.
“So that’s all for now. I’ll keep you posted, Bridey. In the meantime, you keep working away. Maybe everything will turn out just fine.”
She tried to sound upbeat. “I hope so.”
They both hung up.
Bridey stared out of the window, feeling resentful that outside the day was full of sunshine. Shouldn’t it be dreary and gray, with at least a little rain to mirror the gloom in her heart? Just when everything seemed the most bleak, just when she felt the most embarrassed and frustrated by the events of the previous evening, betrayed by her own emotions, threatened by the apartment-greedy co-op board and its legal maneuverings, why was New York wearing its cheeriest attire, its trees turning bright green under a crystal sky, the happy jingle of an ice cream truck reaching up to her from far below, singing of summer’s approach? Why, when her career and all her dreams were threatened, was the city putting on its most optimistic face? Even the potted geraniums on the balcony outside the French doors seemed especially vivid.
The phone rang again.
Omigod! I forgot Marge!
But it wasn’t Marge. It was Gerald Kinski again.
“Sorry to bother you, Bridey, but just after I hung up, a registered letter was handed to me. More bad news, I’m afraid. Are you sitting down?”
Her heart sank still further. It seemed to be stuck somewhere around her navel.
“Is it that bad?” she asked. A sparrow flew onto the balcony railing and began to chirp away merrily, and Satin went to investigate. Silk jumped down from the sofa, too, and joined her brother in the sunshine. “Is it so bad that I have to sit down?”
“It may be.”
Involuntarily, she stood up and started pacing in circles.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
“The letter is really amazing. It’s from attorneys representing someone named Afton G. Morley. Claims to be a relative of Henrietta Willey from somewhere out west, in Idaho.”
“But I thought she didn’t have any relatives.”
“Must be someone she didn’t know about. Says here ‘first cousin twice removed.’ ”
“But how did this Afton Morley know about the will?”
“I have no idea. But they’ve apparently got documents to authenticate the relationship. If this is legitimate, we’ve got new problems.”
“Afton. What kind of a name is that? Male or female?”
“The letter doesn’t indicate.”
“So what does this Afton, he or she, have to say?”
“The letter says he—or she—is coming to New York to examine the apartment, see what the property looks like. Asks for an appointment on Friday here in my office, and then a trip uptown to see the place. If you don’t want to be there, Bridey, you can be out for a few hours. What do you think?”
“No, that’s all right. I’d like to be here.” Like the crazy compulsion to drive into oncoming headlights, she was drawn irresistibly to seeing Afton Morley in person.
“Okay, if you’re sure about that. I’ll call you first so you’ll know when to expect us.”
She clicked off the phone and stared desolately into space.
“Oh, great,” she said to no one at all, “it seems like everyone is ganging up on me. First the co-op board, then Mack and now this new person. Everyone seems to be trying to get me out of here.” She couldn’t hold back the tears now, and they fell in big drops. Silk came and rubbed her sweet face against Bridey’s ankles, and she pulled her up into her lap.
“And if any one of them succeeds,” she sniffled mournfully, “you and Satin will be out of here, too. You don’t understand that, do you?”
She dug her fingers into Silk’s blue-gray fur and gently scratched the deep pelt at the back of the cat’s neck.
“You’re just fat and sassy and totally without a worry in the world, aren’t you? Oh, sweetie, if you only knew what’s happening here.”
The phone interrupted her again. She wiped her wet face, brushing away the tears, and forced her voice to sound steady.
This time it was Mack. “Listen, we really do need to talk,” he said. His voice was a mixture of contrition, eagerness, and command. “About last night—”
“Never mind last night,” she said. Despite her misery, a sudden, triumphant thrill raced through her. It had just occurred to her: Now she had something that would rattle his chains, instead of the other way around. “I’ve just had some news that concerns you,” she said.
“Oh?”
He must have caught the one-up tone in her voice, for she could hear him come up short, like a cartoon character suddenly digging his skidding heels into the dirt. The comical image made her feel better instantly.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s about your campaign to capture this apartment. It’s just run into a major road block.”
There was a short silence while he took that in.
“What are you talking about?” he said finally, his tone cautious.
“Gerald Kinski called me not more than a minute ago. You’ll never guess what it is.”
“Don’t play games with me, Bridey.” Now he sounded impatient. “Just tell me what he said.”
Oh, how she wished she could draw it out, tease him a little, let him stew in his own impatience for a minute. But her news was bursting out of her and she couldn’t contain it.
“A relative has turned up.”
“A relative?”
“Yes. A relative of Henrietta Willey, with a claim against the estate. Someone out west, apparently someone Mrs. Willey didn’t know about. He—or she—is coming here on Friday to see the apartment. So I guess this changes things considerably.”
There was silence on the other end, so she went on. “Of course, this changes things for me, too,” she said.
There was still no sound from Mack.
“If their claim is good, I’ll be out on my ear, and I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Silence.
“Mack? Are you still there?”
“I’m thinking.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking the co-op board has an interest in all this,” he said thoughtfully. “Someone should be there on Friday to represent the board. I’ll talk to Harold Maudsley first, but I think he’ll want me to be on hand when this person arrives.”
“Why not? The more the merrier. It’ll be a regular party,” she said sarcastically.
“Then it’s a date. I’ll see you on Friday.”
“Sure. It’s a date.”
Chapter Twelve
Friday’s first light came up pale blue and white across the East River, striking the tops of the skyscrapers of Midtown Manhattan into flashes of brilliance. But ominous clouds were moving in from the ocean, and by midmorning the sky was overcast, turning the sun into a misted-over orb that struggled to show its face through the gray cover.
Bridey’s mood was a perfect match. The prospect of Afton Morley, due to arrive at noon, was trouble enough, a regular serpent in her paradise. But the presence of Mack Brewster at the same time . . . how much stress could a girl take? She tried to tell herself that it was no big deal whether Mack was there or not, but the thump-thump in her chest was a clear contradiction. She tried all morning to concentrate on her work, but she was too wound up to get anything done and finally totally gave up all hope of finishing the chapter she’d been working on. She packed up all her notes, saved everything on her computer and forced herself to focus only on Afton Morley. In an effort to ease her edginess, she dressed casually, in a pair of black jeans and a lightweight, white cotton sweater, with her copper-gold hair pulled back from her forehead by a black headband. Then, ever the automatic hostess, she had a pot of coffee brewing by the time Mack arrived to meet their common “enemy.”
They hadn’t seen each other since their disastrous evening together on Monday, each managing to lock themselves behind mutually excluding walls. Mack barely nodded at Bridey as he came through the door. Bridey, for her part, was silent as she closed the
door behind him.
He planted himself firmly in the living room, ready for a battle if necessary. His expression was grim. Bridey paced the big living room, feeling as though the apartment was under an escalating attack, with Mack on one flank and this long-lost relative, Morley, on the other. And it was up to her to protect it. The cats, sensing the tension in the air, had retreated to their private quarters. It was just before noon when Max, the doorman, rang up on the intercom to let Bridey know that Mr. Kinski and Mr. and Mrs. Morley had arrived.
“They’re here,” she said to Mack. “Two Morleys: Mr. and Mrs.”
Mack’s expression turned even darker. “Okay,” he said tersely. “Bring them on.”
He was standing at the fireplace, beneath the portrait of Henrietta. He’d left his office and come home just for this meeting, and in his dark suit and dark tie, he looked almost menacingly self-possessed.
But behind his fierce expression, a disconcerting force was percolating through him, distracting him from his single-minded determination to accomplish his mission, to honor his father’s memory and acquire this apartment for his own use. It was Bridey’s dilemma that kept poking at his unconscious. Though he hadn’t yet realized it, her predicament had aroused his protective instincts. And when the bell rang, and he saw how bravely she squared her shoulders before she opened the door, a sympathetic pang ran through his body.
He still felt the memory of her body in his arms.
And he would never forget that kiss.
“Bridey, this is Mr. Afton Morley,” Gerry was saying, introducing the tall, hefty man who followed him into the apartment. “And this is Muriel Morley,” he added, presenting the woman who trailed in behind her husband. “They just got in from Twin Falls last night and this is their first visit to the Big Apple.”
“How do you do?” Bridey held out her hand, but Mr. Morley swept by her, striding into the apartment as though he already owned it and refusing in advance to be intimidated by its opulence. Bridey turned to Mrs. Morley, whose broad face looked a little more affable. “I hope your trip was pleasant, Mrs. Morley.”
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