Barbara Taylor Bradford
Her Own Rules

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

HER OWN RULES. Copyright © 1996 by Barbara Taylor Bradford. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Ebook Edition © MAY 2009 ISBN: 9780007330843

Version: 2017-10-25

The right of Barbara Taylor Bradford to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Praise for New York Times
bestselling author
Barbara Taylor Bradford

“She’s the envy of all of us who put pen to paper. Don’t miss her.”

Greensboro News & Record

And for Her Own Rules

“An emotional journey.”

Denver Rocky Mountain News

“Barbara Taylor Bradford can always be relied on to tell a good story, and she does just that in Her Own Rules.”

Chattanooga Times

“Compelling…Certain to join the ranks of Bradford’s other bestsellers, this novel skillfully blends mystery and romance.”

Library Journal

“One can’t help cheering the heroine on as she presses toward self-awareness. The family and friends who support her are particularly likable for their encouragement.”

Christian Science Monitor

“Barbara Taylor Bradford’s Her Own Rules won’t disappoint.”

Dayton Daily News

For Bob, with love

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Dedication

Prologue Time Past

Part One Time Present

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Part Two Time Present, Time Past

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Ninteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue Time Future

About the Author

Other Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE
TIME PAST

The child sat on a rock perched high up on the river’s bank. Elbows on knees, chin cupped in hands, she sat perfectly still, her eyes trained on the family of ducks circling around on the surface of the dark water.

Her eyes were large, set wide apart, grayish-green in color and solemn, and her small face was serious. But from time to time a smile would tug at her mouth as she watched the antics of the ducklings.

It was a bright day in August.

The sky was a piercingly blue arc unblemished by cloud, the golden sun a perfect sphere, and on this balmy summer’s afternoon nothing stirred. Not a blade of grass or a leaf moved; the only sounds were the faint buzzing of a bee hovering above roses rambling along a crumbling brick wall, the splash of water rushing down the dappled stones of the river’s bed.

The child remained fascinated by the wildlife on the river, and so intent was she in her concentration, she barely moved. It was only when she heard her name being called that she bestirred herself and glanced quickly over her shoulder.

Instantly she scrambled to her feet, waving at the young woman who stood near the door of the cottage set back from the river.

“Mari! Come on! Come in!” the woman called, beckoning to the child as she spoke.

It took Mari only a moment to open the iron gate in the brick wall, and then she was racing along the dirt path, her plump little legs running as fast as they could.

“Mam! Mam! You’re back!” she cried, rushing straight into the woman’s outstretched arms, almost staggering in her haste to get to her.

The young woman caught her daughter, held her close, and nuzzled her neck. She murmured, “I’ve a special treat for tea,” and then she looked down into the child’s bright young face, her own suddenly serious. “I thought I told you not to go down to the river alone, Mari, it’s dangerous,” she chastised the girl, but she did so softly and her expression was as loving as it always was.

“I only sit on the rock, Mam, I don’t go near the edge,” Mari answered, lifting her eyes to her mother’s. “Eunice said I could go and watch the baby ducks.”

The woman sighed under her breath. Straightening, she took hold of the child’s hand and led her into the cottage. Once they were inside, she addressed the girl who was sitting in a chair at the far end of the kitchen, reading a book.

“Eunice, I don’t want Mari going to the river alone, she might easily slip and fall in, and then where would you be? Why, you wouldn’t even know it had happened. And I’ve told you this so many times before. Eunice, are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Mrs. Sanderson. And I’m sorry, I won’t let her go there by herself again.”

“You’d better not,” Kate Sanderson said evenly, but despite her neutral tone there was no doubt from the look in her eyes that she was annoyed.

Turning away abruptly, Kate went and filled the teakettle, put it on the gas stove, and struck a match.

The girl slapped her book shut and rose. “I’ll get off then, Mrs. Sanderson, now that you’re home.”

Kate nodded. “Thanks for baby-sitting.”

“Shall I come tomorrow?” the teenager asked in a surly voice as she crossed the kitchen floor. “Or can you manage?”

“I think so. But please come on Friday morning for a few hours. That would help me.”

“I’ll be here. Is nine all right?”

“That’s fine,” Kate responded, and forced a smile despite her lingering irritation with the teenager.

“Ta’rar, Mari,” Eunice said, grinning at the child.

“Ta’rar, Eunice,” Mari answered, and fluttered her small, chubby fingers in a wave.

When they were alone, Kate said to her five-year-old daughter, “Go and wash your hands, Mari, that’s a good girl, and then we’ll have our tea.”

The child did as she was bidden, and went upstairs to the bathroom, where she washed her hands and dried them. A few seconds later, she returned to the kitchen; this was the hub of the house and the room they used the most. It was good sized and rustic. There was a big stone fireplace with an old-fashioned oven built next to it, lattice windows over the sink, wooden beams on the ceiling and brightly colored rag rugs covered the stone floor.

Aside from being warm and welcoming, even cozy, it was a neat and tidy room. Everything was in its proper place; pots and pans gleamed, and the two windows behind the freshly laundered lace curtains sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine. Kate took pride in her home, and this showed in the care and attention she gave it.

Mari ran across to the table in the center of the floor, which her mother had covered with a white tablecloth and set for tea, and scrambled up onto one of the straight wooden chairs.

She sat waiting patiently, watching Kate moving with swiftness, bringing plates of sandwiches and scones to the table, turning off the whistling kettle, pouring hot water onto the tea leaves in the brown teapot, which Kate always said made the tea taste all that much better.

The child loved her mother, and this adoration shone on her face as her eyes followed Kate everywhere. She was content now that her mother had come home. Kate had been out for most of the day. Mari missed her when she was gone, even if this was for only a short while. Her mother was her entire world. To the five-year-old, Kate was the perfect being, with her gentle face, her shimmering red-gold hair, clear blue eyes and loving nature. They were always together, inseparable really, for the feeling was mutual. Kate loved her child to the exclusion of all else.

Kate moved between the gas oven and the countertop next to the sink, bringing things to the table, and when finally she sat down opposite Mari, she said, “I bought your favorite sausage rolls at the bakery in town, Mari. Eat one now, lovey, while it’s still warm from the oven.”

Mari beamed at her. “Oooh, Mam, I do love ’em.”

“Them,” Kate corrected her softly. “Always say them, Mari, not ’em.”

The child nodded her understanding and reached for a sausage roll, eating it slowly but with great relish. Once she had finished, she eyed the plates of sandwiches hungrily. There were various kinds—cucumber, polony, tomato, and egg salad. Mari’s mouth watered, but because her mother had taught her manners, had told her never to grab for food greedily, she waited for a second or two, sipped the glass of milk her mother had placed next to her plate.

Presently, when she thought enough time had elapsed, she reached for a cucumber sandwich and bit into it, savoring its moist crispiness.

Mother and child exchanged a few desultory words as they munched on the small tea sandwiches Kate had made, but mostly they ate in silence, enjoying the food thoroughly. Both of them were ravenous.

Mari had not had a proper lunch that day because Eunice had ruined the cottage pie her mother had left for them, and which had needed only to be reheated. The baby-sitter had left it in the oven far too long, and it had burned to a crisp. They had had to make do with bread and jam and an apple each.

Kate was starving because she had skipped lunch altogether. She had been tramping the streets of the nearby town, trying to find a job, and she had not had the time or the inclination to stop at one of the local cafes for a snack.

Kate’s hopes had been raised at her last interview earlier that afternoon just before she had returned home. There was a strong possibility that she would get a job at the town’s most fashionable dress shop, Paris Modes. There was a vacancy for a salesperson and the manager had seemed to like her, had told her to come back on Friday morning to meet the owner of the shop. This she fully intended to do. Until then she was keeping her fingers crossed, praying that her luck was finally about to change for the better.

Once Kate had assuaged her hunger, she got up and went to the pantry. The thought of the job filled her with newfound hope and her step was lighter than usual as she brought out the bowl of strawberries and jug of cream.

Carrying them back to the table, she smiled with pleasure when she saw the look of delight on her child’s face.

“Oh Mam, strawberries,” Mari said, and her eyes shone.

“I told you I had a treat for you!” Kate exclaimed, giving Mari a generous portion of the berries, adding a dollop of cream and then serving herself.

“But we have treats only on special days, Mam. Is today special?” the child asked.

“It might turn out to be,” Kate said enigmatically. And then seeing the look of puzzlement on Mari’s face, she added, “Anyway, it’s nice to have a treat on days that aren’t particularly special. That way, the treat’s a bigger surprise, isn’t it?”

Mari laughed and nodded.

As so often happens in England, the warm August afternoon turned into a chilly evening.

A fine rain had been falling steadily since six o’clock and there was a dank mist on the river; this had slowly crept across the low-lying meadows and fields surrounding the cottage, obscuring almost everything. Trees and bushes had taken on strange new shapes, looked like inchoate monsters and illusory beings out there beyond the windows of the cottage.

For once Mari was glad to be tucked up in her bed. “Tell me a story, Mam,” she begged, slipping farther down under the warm covers.

Kate sat on the bed and straightened the top of the sheet, saying as she did, “What about a poem instead? You’re always telling me you like poetry.”

“Tell me the one about the magic wizard.”

Kate smoothed a strand of light brown hair away from Mari’s face. “You mean The Miraculous Stall, don’t you, angel?”

“That’s it,” the child answered eagerly, her glowing eyes riveted on her mother’s pretty face.

Slowly Kate began to recite the poem in her soft, mellifluous voice.

A wizard sells magical things at this stall,

Astonishing gifts you can see if you call.

He can give you a river’s bend

And moonbeam light,

Every kind of let’s pretend,

A piece of night.

Half a mile,

A leaf’s quiver,

An elephant’s smile,

A snake’s slither.

A forgotten dream,

A frog’s croaks,

Firefly gleam,

A stone that floats.

Crystal snowflakes,

Dew from flowers,

Lamb’s tail shakes,

The clock’s hours.

But—surprise!

Not needle eyes.

Those he does not sell at all,

At his most miraculous stall.

Kate smiled at her daughter when she finished, loving her so much. Yet again she smoothed the tumbling hair away from Mari’s face and kissed the tip of her nose.

Mari said, “It’s my best favorite, Mam.”

“Mmmmm, I know it is, and you’ve had a lot of your favorite things today, little girl. But now it’s time for you to go to sleep. It’s getting late, so come on, snuggle down in bed…have you said your prayers?”

The child shook her head.

“You must always remember to say them, Mari. I do. Every night. And I have since I was small as you are now.”

Mari clasped her hands together and closed her eyes.

Carefully she said: “Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, bless this bed that I lay on. Four corners to my bed, four angels round my head. One to watch and one to pray and two to keep me safe all day. May the grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with us all now and forevermore. Amen. God bless Mam and keep her safe. God bless me and keep me safe. And make me a good girl.”

Opening her eyes, Mari looked at Kate intently. “I am a good girl, aren’t I, Mam?”

“Of course you are, darling,” Kate answered. “The best girl I know. My girl.” Leaning forward, Kate put her arms around her small daughter and hugged her close.

Mari’s arms went around Kate’s neck and the two of them clung together. But after a moment or two of this intimacy and closeness, Kate released her grip and settled Mari down against the pillows.

Bending over the child, she kissed her cheek and murmured, “God bless. Sweet dreams. I love you, Mari.”

“I love you, Mam.”

Wide rafts of sunlight slanted through the window, filling the small bedroom with radiance. The constant sunshine flooding across Mari’s face awakened her. Opening her eyes, blinking and adjusting herself to the morning light, she sat up.

Mari had recently learned to tell the time, and so she glanced over at the clock on the bedside stand. It was nearly nine. This surprised the child; her mother was usually up and about long before this time every morning, calling her to come down for breakfast well before eight o’clock.

Slipping out of bed, thinking that her mother had overslept, Mari trotted across the upstairs hall to her mother’s bedroom. The bed was empty. Holding on to the banister, the way she had been taught, she went down the stairs carefully.

Much to Mari’s further surprise, her mother was nowhere to be seen in the kitchen either. At least, not at first glance. But as she peered around the room, she suddenly saw her mother on the floor near the stove.

“Mam! Mam!” she shouted, ran around the table, and came to a standstill in front of her mother. Kate was lying in a crumpled heap; her eyes were closed and her face was deathly white.

Mari saw that there was blood on her mother’s nightgown, and she was so frightened she could not move for a moment. Then she hunkered down and took hold of her mother’s hand. It was cold. Cold as ice.

“Mam, Mam,” she wailed in a tremulous voice, the fear intensifying. “What’s the matter, Mam?”

Kate did not answer; she simply lay there.

Mari touched her cheek. It was as cold as her hand.

The child remained with her mother for a few minutes, patting her hand, touching her face, endeavoring to rouse her, but to no avail. Tears welled in Mari’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. A mixture of panic and worry assailed her; she did not know what to do.

Eventually it came to her. She remembered what her mother had always told her: “If there’s ever anything wrong, an emergency, and I’m not here, go and find Constable O’Shea. He’ll know what’s to be done. He’ll help you.”

Reluctant though she was to leave her mother, Mari now realized that this was exactly what she must do. She must go to the police box on the main road, where Constable O’Shea could be found when he was on his beat.

Letting go of her mother’s hand, Mari headed upstairs. She went to the bathroom, washed her face and hands, cleaned her teeth, and got dressed in the cotton shorts and top she had worn the day before. After buckling on her sandals, she returned to the kitchen.

Mari stood over Kate, staring down at her for a moment or two, her alarm and concern flaring up in her more than ever. And then, turning on her heel, decisively, she hurried outside into the sunny morning air.

Mari raced down the garden path and out onto the tree-lined lane, her feet flying as she ran all the way to the main road. It was there that the police box was located. Painted dark blue and large enough to accommodate two policemen if necessary, the box was a great convenience for the bobby on the beat. Fitted out with a telephone, running water, and a gas burner, it was there that a policeman could make a cup of tea, eat a sandwich, write up a report, and phone the main police station when he had to report in or request help. These police boxes were strategically placed in cities and towns all over England, and were indispensable to the bobbies on the beat, especially when they were on night duty and when the weather was bad.

By the time Mari reached the police box she was panting and out of breath. But much to her relief Constable O’Shea was there. He’ll help me, I know he will, she thought as she came to a stop in front of him.

The policeman was standing in the doorway of the box, smoking a cigarette. He threw it down and stubbed his toe on it when he saw Mari.

Taking a closer look at the panting child, Patrick O’Shea immediately detected the fear in her eyes and saw that she was in a state of great agitation. Recognizing at once that something was terribly wrong, he bent over her, took hold of her hand, and looked into her small, tear-stained face. “What’s the matter, Mari love?” he asked gently.

“It’s me mam,” Mari cried, her voice rising shrilly. “She’s lying on the kitchen floor. I can’t make her wake up.” Mari began to cry even though she was trying hard to be brave. “There’s blood. On her nightgown.”

Constable O’Shea had known Mari all of her young life, and he was well aware that she was a good little girl, well brought up and certainly not one for playing tricks or prone to exaggeration. And in any case her spiraling anxiety was enough to convince him that something had gone wrong at Hawthorne Cottage.

“Just give me a minute, Mari,” he said, stepping inside the police box. “Then we’ll go home and see what’s to be done.” He phoned the police station, asked for an ambulance to be sent to Hawthorne Cottage at once, closed the door, and locked it behind him.

Reaching down, he swung the child up into his arms, making soothing noises and hushing sounds as he did so.

“Now then, love, let’s be on our way back to your house to see how your mam is, and I’m sure we can soon put everything right.”

“But she’s dead,” Mari sobbed. “Me mam’s dead.”

PART ONE
TIME PRESENT
CHAPTER ONE

Meredith Stratton stood at the large plate-glass window in her private office which looked downtown, marveling at the gleaming spires rising up in front of her. The panoramic vista of the Manhattan skyline was always eye-catching, but tonight it looked more spectacular than ever.

It was a January evening at the beginning of 1995, and the sky was ink black and clear, littered with stars. There was even a full moon. Not even a Hollywood set designer could have done it better, Meredith thought, there’s no improving on nature. And then she had to admit that it was the soaring skyscrapers and the overall architecture of the city that stunned the eye.

The Empire State Building still wore its gaudy Christmas colors of vivid red and green; to one side of it, slightly to the left, was the more sedate Chrysler Building with its slender art deco spire illuminated with pure white lights.

Those two famous landmarks dominated the scene, as they always did, but that evening the entire skyline seemed to have acquired more glittering aspects than ever, seemed more pristinely etched against the dark night sky.

“There’s nowhere in the world quite like New York,” Meredith said out loud.

“I agree.”

Meredith swung around to see her assistant, Amy Brandt, standing in the doorway of her office.

“You gave me a start, creeping in on me like that,” Meredith exclaimed with a grin, and then turned back to the window. “Amy, come and look. The city takes my breath away.”

Amy closed the door behind her and walked across the room. She was petite and dark-haired in contrast to Meredith, who was tall and blonde. Amy felt slightly dwarfed by her boss, who stood five feet seven in her stocking feet. But since Meredith always wore high heels, she generally towered over most people, and this gave Amy some consolation, made her feel less like a munchkin.

Gazing out of the window, Amy said, “You’re right, Meredith, Manhattan’s looking sensational, almost unreal.”

“There’s a certain clarity about the sky tonight, even though it’s dark,” Meredith pointed out. “There’re no clouds at all, and the lights of the city are creating a wonderful glow….”

The two women stood looking out the window for a few seconds longer, and then, turning away, moving toward her desk, Meredith said, “I just need to go over a couple of things with you, Amy, and then you can go.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s seven already. Sorry to have kept you so late.”

“It’s not a problem. And you’ll be away for a week, so I’ll be able to take it easy while you’re gone.”

Meredith laughed and raised a perfectly shaped blonde brow. “You taking it easy would be the miracle of the century. You’re a workaholic.”

“Oh no, not me, that’s you, lady boss. You take first prize in that category.”

Meredith’s deep green eyes crinkled at the corners as she laughed again, and then, pulling a pile of manila files toward her, she opened the top one, glanced down at the sheet of figures, and studied them for a split second.

Finally, she looked up and said, “I’ll be gone for longer than a week, Amy. I think it will be two at least. I’ve quite a lot to do in London and Paris. Agnes is very set on buying that old manor house in Montfort-L’Amaury, and you know she’s like a dog with a bone when she gets her teeth into something. However, I’m going to have to work very closely with her on this one.”

“From the photographs she sent it looks like a beautiful property, and it’s perfect for us,” Amy volunteered, and then asked, “You’re not suddenly against it, are you?”

“No, I’m not. And what you say is true, it is ideal for Havens. My only worry is how much do we have to spend in order to turn that old house into a comfortable inn with all the modern conveniences required by the seasoned, indeed pampered, traveler? That’s the key question. Agnes gets rather vague when it comes to money, you know that. The cost of new plumbing is not something that concerns her particularly, or even interests her. I’m afraid practicalities have always eluded Agnes.”

“She’s very creative, though, especially when it comes to marketing the inns.”

“True. And I’m usually stuck with the plumbing.”

“And the decorating. Let’s not forget that, Meredith. You know you love designing the inns, putting your own personal stamp on them, not to mention everything in them.”

“I do enjoy that part of it, yes. On the other hand, I must consider the costs, and more than ever, this time around. Agnes can’t put up any more of her own money, so she won’t be involved in the purchase of the manor or the cost of its remodeling. And the same applies to Patsy in England, she can’t offer any financial help either. I have to raise the money myself. And I will. Agnes and Patsy are somewhat relieved that I’ll be taking care of the financing, but, more so than ever, I will have to keep a tight rein on the two of them when it comes to the remodeling.”

“Are you sure you want to go ahead with the new inns in Europe?” Amy asked. Until that moment she had not realized that Meredith would be doing all the financing, and she detected a degree of worry in her voice.

“Oh yes, I do want to buy them. We have to acquire additional inns in order to expand properly. Not that I want the company to become too big. I think six hotels is enough, Amy, certainly that number’s just about right for me, easy to manage, as long as Agnes is running the French end and Patsy the English.”

“Six,” Amy repeated, eyeing Meredith quizzically. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Meredith looked baffled. “I’m not following you.”

“You said six inns are easy to manage, but with the two new ones in Europe you’ll actually own seven, if you count the three here. Are you thinking of selling off one of the American hostelries?”

“I have been toying with the idea,” Meredith admitted.

“Silver Lake Inn would bring in the most money,” Amy remarked. “After all, it’s the most successful of the three.”

Meredith stared at Amy.

Suddenly she felt the same tight pain in her chest that she had the week before, when Henry Raphaelson, her friendly private banker, had uttered the same words over lunch at ‘21’.

“I could never sell Silver Lake,” Meredith answered at last, repeating what she had said to Henry.

“I know what you mean.”

No, you don’t, Meredith thought, but she remained silent. She simply inclined her head, lowered her eyes, stared at the financial breakdown, the costs of remodeling the manor in Montfort-L’Amaury, but not really concentrating on the figures.

She was thinking of Silver Lake Inn. No one really knew what it meant to her, not even her daughter and her son, who had both been born there. Silver Lake had always been her haven, the first safe haven she had known, and the first real home she had ever had. And Jack and Amelia Silver, the owners, had been the first people who had ever shown her any kindness in her entire life. They had loved and cherished her like a younger sister, nurtured her, brought out her potential—encouraged her talent, helped her to hone her business acumen, applauded her style. And from them she had learned about decency and kindness, dignity and courage.

Jack and Amelia. The only family she had ever had. For a moment she saw them both very clearly in her mind’s eye. They were the first human beings she had ever loved. There had been no one to love before them. Except Spin, the little dog, and even she had been taken away from her just when they had become attached to each other.

Silver Lake was part of her very being, part of her soul. She knew she could never, would never, sell it whatever the circumstances.

Meredith took a deep breath and eventually the pain in her chest began to subside. Lifting her eyes, focusing on Amy, she remarked almost casually, “I might have a buyer for Hilltops. That’s why I’ve decided to go up to Connecticut tonight.”

Amy was surprised, but she merely nodded. “What about Fern Spindle? Don’t you think you’d get more for the Vermont inn than for Hilltops?”

“It’s certainly a much more valuable property, Amy, that’s true, valued in the many millions. But someone has to want it, has to want to buy. Only then does it become viable to me.”

Amy nodded.

Meredith went on. “Blanche knows I’m coming up tonight. I’m staying at Silver Lake, there’s no point in having her open up the house for one night. Jonas will stay over and drive me up to Sharon tomorrow morning, to meet the potential buyers. After the meeting at Hilltops I’ll come straight back to the city, and I’ll leave for London on Saturday as planned.”

Meredith picked up a manila folder and handed it to Amy. “Here’re my letters, all signed, and a bunch of checks for Lois.” Leaning back in her chair, she finished with, “Well, I guess that’s it.”

“No…you have e-mail, Meredith.”

Meredith swung around to face her computer on the narrow table behind her chair, peered at the screen.

Thurs. Jan 5 1995

Hi Mom:

Thanks for check. Helps. Have a fab trip. Go get ’em. Bring back the bacon. Luv ya loads.

JON

“Well, well, doesn’t he have a way with words,” Meredith said pithily, shaking her head. But she was smiling inwardly, thinking of her twenty-one-year-old son, Jonathan, who had always had the ability to amuse her. He had turned out well. Just as his sister had. She was lucky in that respect.

Left alone in her office, Meredith studied the figures from her French partner. She thought they seemed a bit on the high side, and reminded herself that Agnes was not always as practical as she should be when it came to refurbishing. It might be possible to shave them a bit, she decided.

Agnes D’Auberville and she had been involved in business together for the past eight years, and their partnership had been a successful one. They got on well and balanced each other, and Agnes’s flair for marketing had helped to put the inns on the map. With her long scarves and trailing skirts she was bohemian but stylish.

Agnes ran the Paris office of Havens Incorporated and oversaw the management of the château-hotel they jointly owned in the Loire Valley. She was unable to participate financially in the acquisition of the manor house in Montfort-L’Amaury, although she was eager that they buy it. “You won’t regret it, Meredith, it’s a good investment for the company,” Agnes had said to her during their phone conversation earlier that day.

Meredith knew that this was true. She also knew that a charming inn, situated only forty-eight kilometers from Paris, and within easy striking distance of Versailles and the forest of Rambouillet was bound to be a moneymaker, especially if it had a good restaurant.

According to Agnes, she had already lined up a well-known chef, as well as a distinguished architect who would properly redesign the manor house, help to turn it into a comfortable inn.

As for Patsy Canton, her English partner who had come on board ten years earlier, the story was a little different in one respect. Patsy had fallen upon two existing inns for sale and quite by accident. She believed them to be real finds.

One was in Keswick, the famous beauty spot in the Lake District in Cumbria; the other was in the Yorkshire dales near the cathedral towns of York and Ripon. Both were popular places with foreign visitors. Again, such an inn, with its good reputation already established, would more than earn its keep.

Unfortunately, Patsy had the same dilemma as Agnes. She was unable to put up any more money. She had already invested everything she had in Havens Incorporated; her inheritance from her parents had gone into Haddon Fields, the country inn Havens owned in the Cotswolds.

In much the same way Agnes did in Paris, Patsy oversaw the management of Haddon Fields, and ran the small London office of Havens. Her strong suits were management and public relations.

Meredith let out a small sigh, thinking about the problems she was facing. On the other hand, they weren’t really unsurmountable problems, and, in the long run, the two new inns in Europe were going to be extremely beneficial to the company.

Expansion had been her idea, and hers alone, and she was determined to see it through; after all, she was the majority stockholder of Havens and the chief executive officer. In essence it was her company, and she was responsible for all of its operations.

Henry Raphaelson had told her at the beginning of the week that the bank would lend her the money she needed for her new acquisitions. The inns Havens already owned would be used as collateral for the loan. But Silver Lake Inn was not included. Henry had agreed to this stipulation of hers, if somewhat reluctantly, because she had convinced him Hilltops would be sold quickly. And hopefully she was right. With a little luck Elizabeth and Philip Morrison would commit to it the next day. Of course they will, she told herself, always the eternal optimist.

Pushing back her chair, Meredith rose and crossed to the lacquered console against the long wall, where she had put her briefcase earlier.

Tall though she was, she had a shapely, feminine figure and long legs. She moved with lithesome grace and swiftness; in fact, she was generally quick in everything she did, and she was full of drive and energy.

At forty-four Meredith Stratton looked younger than her years. This had a great deal to do with her vitality and effervescent personality as well as her youthful face and pale blonde hair worn in a girlish pageboy. This framed her rather angular, well-defined features and arresting green eyes.

Good-looking though she was, it was her pleasant demeanor and a winning natural charm that captivated most people. She had a way about her that was unique, and she left a lasting impression on all who met her.

Meredith carried her briefcase back to the desk, a glass tabletop mounted on steel sawhorses, and filled it with the manila folders and other papers she had been working on all day. After closing it and placing it on the floor, she picked up the phone and dialed her daughter’s number.

“It’s me,” Meredith said when Catherine answered.

“Hi, Mom!” Catherine exclaimed, sounding genuinely pleased to hear her mother’s voice. “How’re things?”

“Pretty good. I’m off to London and Paris on Saturday.”

“Lucky thing! Can I come with you?”

“Of course! I’d love it. You know that, darling.”

“I can’t, Mom, much as I’d enjoy playing hookey in Paris with you, having a good time. I have to finish the illustrations for Madeleine McGrath’s new children’s book, and I’ve several book jackets lined up. Oh but I can dream, can’t I?”

“Yes, you can, and I’m so glad things are going well for you with your work. But if you suddenly decided you can get away, call Amy. She’ll book your flight and get you a ticket before you can even say Jack Robinson.”

Catherine began to laugh. “I haven’t heard you use that expression for years, not since I was a kid. You told me once where it came from, but now I can’t remember. It’s such an odd expression.”

“Yes, it is, and it’s something I learnt when I was growing up in Australia. I think it originated in England and was brought over by the Pommies. Australians started to use it, and I guess it became part of our idiomatic speech. Sort of slang, really.”

“Now I remember, and you told us that it meant in a jiffy.”

“Less than a jiffy, actually,” Meredith said, laughing with her daughter. “Anyway, think about coming to Paris or London. You know how much I enjoy traveling with you. How’s Keith?”

Catherine let out a long sigh. “He’s fantastic…yummy.”

“You sound happy, Cat.”

“Oh I am, Mom, I am. I’m crazy about him.”

“Is it getting serious?”

“Very.” Catherine cleared her throat. “Mom, I think he’s going to propose soon.”

For a split second Meredith was taken aback and she was silent at the other end of the phone.

“Mom, are you still there?”

“Yes, darling.”

“You do approve…don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I like Keith a lot, and I was just surprised for a moment, that’s all. It seems to have progressed very quickly…what I mean is, you haven’t known him all that long.”

“Six months. That’s enough time, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

Catherine said, “Actually, Keith and I fell in love with each other the moment we met. It was a coup de foudre, as the French are wont to say.”

Meredith smiled to herself. “Ah yes, struck by lightning…I know what you mean.”

“Is that how it was with my father?”

Meredith hesitated. “Not really, Cat…Well, in a way, yes. Except we didn’t admit that to each other for a long time.”

“Well, you couldn’t, could you. I mean, given the peculiar circumstances. It must’ve been hell for you.”

“No, it wasn’t, strangely enough. Anyway, that’s an old, old story, and now’s not the time to start going into it again.”

“Was it a coup de foudre when you met David?”

“No,” Meredith said, and thought of Jonathan’s father for the first time in several years. “We loved each other, but it wasn’t a…crazy love.”

“I always knew that, I guess. It’s a crazy love between me and Keith, and when he asks me, I’m obviously going to say yes. You really do approve, don’t you, Mom?” she asked again.

“Very much so, darling, and if he pops the question while I’m in London or Paris, you will let me know at once, won’t you?”

“I sure will. And I bet we make you a grandmother before you can say…Jack Robinson.” Catherine giggled.

Meredith said, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“Don’t be silly, Mom, of course I’m not. But I can’t wait to have a baby. Before I get too old.”

Meredith burst out laughing. “Don’t be so ridiculous, you’re only twenty-five.”

“I know, but I want to have children while I’m young, the way you did.”

“You always were a regular old mother hen, even when you were little. But listen, honey, I’m going to have to go. Jonas is driving me up to Silver Lake Inn tonight. I have a meeting at Hilltops tomorrow. I’ll be back in New York tomorrow evening, if you need me. Good night, Cat. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom. Say hello to Blanche and Pete, give them my love. And listen, take care.”

“I will. Talk to you tomorrow, and God bless.”

After hanging up the phone, Meredith sat at her desk for a moment or two, her thoughts with her daughter. Of course Keith Pearson would propose, and very soon, Meredith was quite certain of that. There was going to be a wedding this year. Her face lit up at the thought of it. Catherine was going to be a beautiful bride, and she would give her daughter a memorable wedding.

Meredith rose, walked over to the window, and stood staring out at the Manhattan skyline. New York City, she murmured to herself, the place I’ve made my home. Such a long way from Sydney, Australia…how far I’ve come and in so many different ways. I took my terrible life and turned it around. I made a new life for myself. I took the pain and heartbreak and I built on them…I used them as pilings upon which to build my strong citadel in much the same way the Venetians built theirs on pilings driven into the sandbanks. And I did it all by myself…no, not entirely by myself. Jack and Amelia helped me.

Meredith’s eyes swept around the elegant room decorated in various shades of pale gray, lavender, and amethyst. They took in the rich silks and velvets used to upholster the sofas and chairs, the sleek gray lacquer finishes on the modern furniture, the French and American modern impressionist paintings by Taurelle, Epko, and Guy Wiggins.

And she saw it as if for the first time, through newly objective eyes, and she could not help wondering what Jack and Amelia would think of it…what they would think of all that she had accomplished.

Her throat tightened with a rush of sudden emotion, and she stepped back to the desk and sat down, her eyes now lingering on the two photographs in their silver frames that she always kept there in front of her.

One photograph was of Catherine and Jonathan taken when they were children; Cat had been twelve, Jon eight, and what beauties they had been. Free spirits and so finely wrought.

The other picture was of Amelia and Jack and her. How young she looked. Tanned and blonde and so unsophisticated. She had been just twenty-one years old when the picture was taken at Silver Lake.

Jack and Amelia would be proud of me, she thought. After all, they helped to make me what I am, and in a sense I am their creation. And they are the best part of me.

CHAPTER TWO

Whenever she came back to Silver Lake, Meredith experienced a feeling of excitement. No matter how long she had been absent, be it months on end, a week, or merely a few days, she returned with a sense of joyousness welling inside, the knowledge that she was coming home.

Tonight was no exception.

Her anticipation started the moment Jonas pulled off Route 45 North near Cornwall, and nosed the car through the big iron gates that marked the entrance to the vast Silver Lake property.

Jonas drove slowly down the road that led to the lake, the inn, and the small compound of buildings on its shores. It was a good road, well illuminated by the old-fashioned street lamps Meredith had installed some years before.

Peering out of the car windows, she could see that Pete had had some of the workers busy with the bulldozer earlier in the day. The road was clear, the snow banked high like giant white hedges, and in the woods that traversed the road on either side there were huge drifts blown by the wind into weird sand-dune shapes.

The branches of the trees were heavy with snow, many of them dripping icicles, and in the moonlight the pristine white landscape appeared to shimmer as if sprinkled with a fine coating of silver dust.

Meredith could not help thinking how beautiful the woods were in their winter garb. But then, this land was always glorious, no matter what the season of the year, and it was so special to her, no other place in the world could compare to it.

The first time she had set eyes on Silver Lake she had been awed by its majestic beauty—the great lake shining in the spring sunlight, a smooth sheet of glass, surrounded by lush meadows and orchards, the whole set in a natural basin created by the soaring wooded hills that rose up to encircle the entire property.

She had fallen in love with it instantly and had gone on loving it with a growing passion ever since.

Twenty-six years ago this year, she thought, I was only eighteen. So long ago, more than half her life ago. And yet it might have been only yesterday, so clear and fresh was the memory in her mind.

She had come to Silver Lake Inn to apply for the job of receptionist, which she had seen advertised in the local paper. The Paulsons, the American family who had brought her with them from Australia as an au pair, were moving to South Africa because of Mr. Paulson’s job. She did not want to go there. Nor did she wish to return to her native Australia. Instead, she preferred to stay in America, in Connecticut, to be precise.

It had been the middle of May, not long after her birthday, and she had arrived on a borrowed bicycle, looking a bit windswept, to say the least.

Casting her mind back now, she pictured herself as she had been then—tall, skinny, all arms and legs like a young colt. Yet pretty enough in a fresh young way. She had been full of life and vitality, eager to be helpful, eager to please. That was her basic nature and she was a born peacemaker.

Jack and Amelia Silver had taken to her at once, as she had to them. But they had been concerned about her staying in America without the Paulsons, had inquired about her family in Sydney, and what they would think. Once she explained that her parents were dead, they had been sympathetic, sorry that she had lost them so young. And they had understood then that she had no real reason to go back to the Antipodes.

After they had talked on the phone to Mrs. Paulson, they had hired her on the spot.

And so it had begun, an extraordinary relationship that had changed her life.

Meredith straightened in her seat as the inn came into view. Lights blazed in many of the windows, and this was a welcoming sight. She could hardly wait to be inside, to be with Blanche and Pete, surrounded by so many familiar things in that well-loved place.

Within seconds Jonas was pulling up in front of the inn. He had barely braked when the front door flew open and bright light flooded out onto the wide porch.

A moment later Blanche and Pete O’Brien were at the top of the steps, and as Meredith opened the car door, Pete was already halfway down, exclaiming, “Welcome, Meredith, you’ve certainly made it in good time despite the snow.”

“Hello, Pete,” she said as he enveloped her in a hug. She added, as they drew apart, “There’s nobody like Jonas when it comes to driving. He’s the best.”

“That he is. Hi, Jonas, good to see you,” Pete said, nodding to the driver, smiling at him. “I’ll help you with Mrs. Stratton’s bags.”

“Evening, Mr. O’Brien, but I can manage. There’s nothing much to carry.”

Meredith left the two men to deal with the bags, and ran up the steps.

“It’s good to be back here, Blanche!”

The two women embraced and then Blanche, smiling up at Meredith, led her inside. “And it’s good to have you back, Meredith, if only for one night.”

“I wish I could stay longer, but as I explained on the phone, I’ve got to get back to the city after the meeting at Hilltops tomorrow.”

Blanche nodded. “I think you’re going to make a deal with the Morrisons. They’re awfully eager to buy an inn, get away from New York, lead a different kind of life.”

“I’m keeping my fingers crossed,” Meredith said, shrugging out of her heavy gray wool cape, throwing it down on a bench.

“I know you’ll like them, they’re a lovely couple, very sincere, straight as a dye, and quite aside from wanting to start a new business, they love this part of Connecticut.”

“And why not, it’s God’s own country,” Meredith murmured. She glanced around the entrance hall. “Everything looks wonderful, Blanche, so warm, welcoming.”

Blanche beamed at her. “Thanks, Meredith, you know I love this old place as much as you do. Anyway, you must be starving. I didn’t think you’d want a full dinner at this late hour, so I made some smoked salmon sandwiches, and there’s fruit and cheese. Oh and I have a hunter’s soup bubbling on the stove.”

“The soup sounds great. You make the best, and they’re usually a meal in themselves. I’m sure Jonas is hungry after the long drive, so perhaps you’d offer him the soup too, and some sandwiches.”

“I will.”

Pete came in with Meredith’s overnight bag and briefcase. “Jonas has gone to park the car,” he explained. “I’ll take these upstairs.”

“Thanks, Pete,” Meredith said.

“I’ve put you in the toile de Jouy suite,” Blanche told her, “because I know how much you like it. Now, do you want a tray up there? Or shall I bring it to the bar parlor?”

“I’ll have it down here in the parlor, thanks, Blanche,” Meredith said, peering into the room that opened off the inn’s large entrance hall. “I see you have a fire going…that’s nice. I think I’ll make myself a drink. Would you like one, Blanche?”

“Why not. I’ll join you in a vodka and tonic. But first let me go and fix a tray for Jonas, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She hurried off in the direction of the kitchen.

Meredith went into the bar parlor, glancing around as she strolled over to the huge stone hearth at the far end of the room. The fire burning brightly, the red carpet, the red velvet sofas and tub chairs covered in red and cream linen, gave the parlor a warm, rosy feeling. This was further enhanced by the red brocade curtains at the leaded windows, the polished mahogany paneled walls, and the red shades on the wall sconces. It was a slightly masculine room in feeling and rather English in overtone; there was a mellowness about it that Meredith had always liked.

The carved mahogany bar was to the left of the fireplace, facing the leaded windows. Meredith went behind it, took two glasses, added ice, and poured a good measure of Stolichnaya Cristal into each one. She smiled to herself when she noticed the small plate of lime wedges next to the ice bucket. Blanche had second-guessed her very accurately. Her old friend had known she would have her drink in here. The bar parlor had always been a favorite spot of hers in the inn, as it was with everyone, because it was so intimate and cozy. And conducive to drinking. Jack had been smart when he had created the bar parlor.

Once she had made the drinks, Meredith went over to the fireplace. She stood with her back to it, enjoying the warmth, sipping her vodka, relaxing as she waited for Blanche, whom she thought had never looked better. If there was a tiny fleck of silver in her bright red hair, she was, nonetheless, as slim as she had been as a girl, and the merry dark-brown eyes were as lively as ever. She’s wearing well, Meredith thought, very well indeed.

The two women, who were the same age, had been friends for twenty-four years. Blanche had come to Silver Lake Inn two years after Meredith had taken the job as the receptionist. She had started as a pastry chef in the kitchens, had soon been promoted to chef, since she was an inspired cook. Blanche had enjoyed working in the kitchens until she married Pete, who had always managed the estate for the Silvers, and became pregnant with Billy.

By then Meredith was running the inn, and she offered Blanche the job of assistant manager. Blanche had been delighted to accept the offer at once, glad to be out of the heat, relieved not to lift heavy pots and pans, and thrilled to be able to continue working at the inn.

These days she and Pete ran Silver Lake Inn together and were responsible for its overall management as well as the upkeep of the entire estate. She’s been good for this place, Meredith mused. She’s as passionate about it as I am, and it shows everywhere, and in everything she does.

Blanche interrupted her musings, walking rapidly into the bar parlor, saying, “By the way, you’re not going to believe this, but we’re rather busy this coming weekend. All the rooms are taken. And several suites. Unusual for January, I must say, but I’m not complaining.”

“I’m delighted, and in some ways it’s not that surprising. A lot of people do like being in the country in the snowy weather, and this place has such a great reputation. Thanks, in no uncertain terms, to you and Pete. I do appreciate all you both do, Blanche.”

“We love the inn, you know that.”

“By the way, Catherine sends her love to you and Pete.”

Blanche smiled. “And give her ours. How is she, Meredith?”

“As wonderful as always, and doing so well with her work; she’s turned out to be a fine illustrator. And, of course, she’s madly in love.”

“With Keith Pearson?”

Meredith nodded. “She told you?”

“Yes, when you were all here at Thanksgiving.”

“I think it’s become rather serious.”

“Are we looking forward to a wedding?” Blanche asked, staring at Meredith quizzically.

“I think so…I’m pretty sure.”

“You will have it here, won’t you?”

“Where else, Blanche? Cat was born here, grew up here, and so I’m certain she’ll want to be married here. And it is the perfect setting.”

“Oh I can’t wait to start planning it!” Blanche cried, taking a sip of her drink. “Cheers. And here’s to Cat and the wedding.”

“The wedding,” Meredith said, and lifted her glass as Blanche was doing. She wondered if it was bad luck to drink to something so prematurely.

“Marquees. We’ll have to have marquees,” Blanche said, gazing into space, obviously already envisioning the reception.

“But they’ll no doubt get married in the summer,” Meredith pointed out.

“Yes, I know. June probably, every girl wants to be a June bride. But it can rain up here at that time of year, you know that as well as I do, and it’s best to be safe. Oh it’ll be great, though. We’ll do wonderful flowers and table settings. And a special menu. Oh it’s going to be fabulous. Leave it all to me.”

Meredith laughed. “I’m happy to, my darling Blanche.”

“Good.” Blanche sipped her drink, and then suddenly she looked across at Meredith and said, “Do you ever hear from David?”

“David Layton?” Meredith asked, slightly surprised.

“Yes.”

“Rarely. Why do you ask?”

“I thought of him just now…have you forgotten that you married him here and that I did the entire wedding?”

“No, I hadn’t,” Meredith said slowly, and began to shake her head. “Funny, isn’t it, how someone’s name is rarely, if ever, mentioned, and then it comes up twice in one day.”

“Who else mentioned David?”

“Catherine. When we were talking on the phone earlier this evening. She asked me if I’d been crazy in love with him, or words to that effect.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told her the truth. I said that I hadn’t.”

“Of course not. You were only crazily in love once, and that was with her father.”

Meredith was silent.

“Have you ever wondered what your life would have been like if he hadn’t—”

“I really don’t want to discuss it,” Meredith snapped, cutting in peremptorily. Then she bit her lip, looking chagrined. “I’m sorry, Blanche, I didn’t mean to bite your head off like that, it’s just that I prefer to leave that particular subject matter alone tonight. It’s been a long day and I don’t really feel like delving into the tragedies of the past.”

Blanche smiled gently. “It’s my fault. I brought it up and I shouldn’t have…now you’re looking sad…I’ve upset you.”

“No, you haven’t, I promise you, Blanche.”

Deeming it wiser to change the subject, Blanche put down her drink and said, “By the way, we’re going to have to order new carpet for the toile de Jouy suite, and the blue room. There’s been some leaks this winter, and the carpets are damaged. I hate to tell you this, but there’s also been a leak in your bedroom in the house. I’ll show you tomorrow. I’m afraid you’ll have to replace the carpet there as well.”

“These things happen, Blanche, we know that from years of experience. And even after we put in new roofs last year. I’ll call Gary at Stark tomorrow, before I go to London. He’s got everything on the computer, so it won’t be a problem.” Meredith frowned. “The carpets were from the standard lines, weren’t they?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Blanche said, and then began to walk toward the door. “It’s getting late. I’m going to the kitchen to bring you that bowl of soup.”

Meredith put down her glass and followed her. “I’ll eat in the kitchen, Blanche, it’s much easier.”

CHAPTER THREE

Hilltops, the inn Meredith owned near Sharon, was built on top of a hill, as its name suggested. The site was the highest point above Lake Wononpakook, and the views from the inn’s windows were spectacular: endless miles of lake and sky and wooded hills, with hardly another structure in evidence on the expansive land.

The inn started out as a mansion, the summer retreat of one of America’s great tycoons, who built it in the late 1930s, sparing no expense. He and his family spent summers there until his death in the mid sixties, when it was sold.

When Meredith bought it in 1981 it had been an inn for almost twenty years, and it was already well established. But it was her stylish refurbishing and the two new restaurants she created that gave it a certain cachet and put it on the map.

Hilltops evoked images of Switzerland in her mind, and turning to Paul Ince, who was the manager of the inn, she said, “I feel as if I’m looking down on Lake Geneva this morning, Paul.”

He laughed and answered, “I know what you mean, I always get the sensation of being in the Swiss Alps myself, especially in winter.”

Meredith had arrived at Hilltops fifteen minutes earlier, and the two of them stood together in the inn’s lovely old pine-paneled library, waiting for the Morrisons to arrive for the meeting.

Glancing out of the window again, Meredith murmured, “All this snow. It really came down this year, but it doesn’t seem to have affected business, does it?”

“No, not at all, Meredith. Well, I shouldn’t say that. As you know, we did have a few problems last week, and had to close the restaurants for a few days. But we soon got rid of the snow, once the bulldozer was up on the main road here. When it was shifted we were fine.” He paused, turned to her. “And we are fine,” he reassured her.

“What are your bookings like for the weekend?” she asked.

“Pretty good, twelve out of the fifteen rooms are taken. And both restaurants are almost full. Local trade as well as the hotel guests.”

Paul cleared his throat, briefly hesitating, and then said, “I know you’ll be able to sell this place, Meredith. Whether it’s to the Morrisons or someone else, because it’s such a good buy. And I just wanted to say this now…I’m really going to miss working with you. You’ve always been great, such a wonderful boss.”

“That’s nice of you to say so, Paul, thank you. And I’ve enjoyed working with you all these years. And I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re definitely a big part of the inn’s success, you’ve put so much of yourself into it, built up the business so well. And as I told you earlier, if the Morrisons do end up taking it over, I’m sure they’ll want you to stay on. If you want to, that is.”

“I do, and when they were over here last weekend they indicated they felt the same way.”

“What’re your feelings about them? About their intentions, Paul?”

“They’re more than interested, Meredith. I’d say they are extremely eager to get their hands on Hilltops, as I told Blanche the other day. It’s apparently what they’ve wanted for the last few years…a country inn in Connecticut, far away from the hectic pace of New York City and the rat race of Wall Street and Madison Avenue. New careers for them both. New lifestyles for them and their kids.”

“I didn’t know they had children,” Meredith said, frowning. “Does that mean they’d want to live in the cottage? Your cottage?”

Paul shook his head. “No, Mrs. Morrison’s indicated that they’re going to keep their house in Lakeville. But if they did want the cottage, Anne and I could always move into the inn until that apartment over the garage was made livable.”

Meredith nodded her understanding; she walked over to the fireplace, where she sat down, poured herself another cup of coffee. “Do you want a second cup, Paul?”

“Yes, please.” Paul joined her by the fireside.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking their coffee, lost in their own thoughts. It was Meredith who spoke first, when she said, “As you know, the asking price for the inn is four million dollars, and so far I’ve not budged from that figure. Between us, I would come down a bit, just to make the sale. What’s your assessment of them regarding the price?”

“It’s hard to say,” Paul replied, looking thoughtful. After a moment or two’s reflection, he went on. “I’d stick to your guns for a bit and see what happens. But just be mentally prepared to accept three million.”

She shook her head. “No way, Paul, I’ve got to get three and a half million, at least. Anyway, the inn’s worth that…in fact, it’s worth four. My real estate people actually valued it at four and a half.”

“But you’ve always said to me that someone’s got to want to buy a property to make it a viable holding, an asset.”

“I know, I know, but I really do need three and a half million dollars for my expansion program,” Meredith said, putting her cup down with a clatter. “The two inns in Europe are going to cost money, and I’d like to have something left over from this sale for operating costs and to plow back into Havens.”

“Look, Meredith, I’m sure the Morrisons are quite well placed. He’s worked on Wall Street for years, and she’s been one of the partners in an ad agency on Madison Avenue. In any case, when you meet them, talk to them, you’ll be able to judge for yourself what the freight can bear.”

“Too true…why try to second guess?”

There was a knock on the door, and as Paul called, “Come in!” it opened.

The receptionist looked in and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Morrison have arrived.”

Paul nodded. “Show them in, Doris, please.”

Several seconds later Paul was introducing Elizabeth and Philip Morrison to Meredith. Once the handshakes were over, they all sat down in the chairs near the fire.

Meredith said, “Can I offer you something? Coffee, tea, a soda, perhaps?”

“No, thank you,” Mrs. Morrison said.

Her husband shook his head and murmured something about just having had breakfast. Then he began to speak to Paul about the weather, the snow on the roads, and the drive over from Lakeville, where they owned a weekend home.

Mrs. Morrison looked across at Meredith and said, “I love the way you’ve decorated Hilltops…it’s so charming and intimate. It reminds me of an English country house.”

“Thank you,” Meredith said, smiling at the other woman. “I like decorating, creating a look, an ambiance. And lots of comfort for the guests, of course. I think an inn should be a haven, that’s why I called my company Havens Incorporated.”

Elizabeth Morrison nodded. “Very apt, very apt indeed. And I think all of your little touches are wonderful. The hot water bottles in silk cases, the special reading lights by the bed, the afghans on the chaises, little luxuries like that make all the difference.”

“That’s what I believe,” Meredith murmured, “and that’s my policy in all of the inns we own.”

“We’ve always wanted to run an inn like this,” Mrs. Morrison confided. “And now’s the time to do it, when we’re both still young. Also, we want to get out of the city, bring up our three children in the country. The city’s become so violent, hard to take in general.”

“I understand. I raised two children in Connecticut, and I’ve always felt lucky that I was able to do so. As you know, since you’ve been residents up here for a few years, there are plenty of good schools. Yes, it’s a great spot for a family.”

Elizabeth Morrison was about to say something else, when she caught her husband’s warning look; she simply cleared her throat and sat back in her chair, having suddenly become a mere spectator at this meeting.

Meredith, who missed nothing, noticed this infinitesimal exchange. She understood immediately that Philip Morrison did not want his wife saying any more. Nor did he wish her to sound too enthusiastic about the inn. He wanted her to play it cool. As he had been doing all along. He was obviously ready to deal.

Not giving him an opportunity to start the ball rolling, Meredith jumped in with both feet.

Staring directly at him, fixing him with an appraising eye, she said, “I know you’ve been back to look at Hilltops many times now, and that you both like it. The question is, do you really want to buy it?”

“Yes,” Philip Morrison said. “At the right price. For us, that is.”

“The price is four million dollars, Mr. Morrison. I think my real estate lawyer in the city has already told you that.”

“He did. But as I told Mr. Melinger, it’s a bit steep for me.”

“Actually, the inn is worth four million dollars, even more if the truth be known,” Meredith pointed out. “As a matter of fact, it’s true value is four and a half million dollars. You can check that with the real estate people both here and in the city. It just so happens that I’m willing to take less because I’m expanding my company. Otherwise, I’d hold out for the proper price, I can assure you.”

“I’ll give you three million,” Philip Morrison said, glanced at his wife, and added, “That’s all we can pay, isn’t it, Liz?”

Momentarily startled to suddenly be drawn into this exchange, she looked nonplussed. Then she said quickly, emphatically, “We’re selling our Manhattan co-op and hoping to get a mortgage on the Lakeville house, and by cashing in some of our other assets, we can raise three million. But that’s it.”

Meredith gave her a long and thoughtful look but made no comment. Leaning forward, she picked up her cup of coffee and took a sip.

Morrison said, “What do you say, Mrs. Stratton? Will you accept three million?”

“No,” Meredith said, looking him right in the eye. “I can’t. As I told you, when I first decided to sell Hilltops, my original price was four and a half million dollars, because that is its true value. It’s in perfect condition. New roof, new plumbing, and new wiring in the last few years, among many other major improvements. And there’s a great deal of land attached to the inn. I came down in price only because it was suggested I do so by my advisers, in order to sell now. But I must stick at four million.”

“Three million and a quarter,” Morrison countered.

Meredith pursed her lips and shook her head. “Four.”

“Three and a quarter,” he offered again.

Meredith let out a small sigh and gave the Morrisons a slow, resigned smile, glancing from one to the other. “I tell you what, I’ll take three million seven hundred and fifty thousand.”

“I just can’t do it,” Philip Morrison said.

“But it’s a bargain,” Meredith stated quietly. “If you consider that the proper price is really four and a half million, I’ve just come down by three quarters of a million dollars.”

Philip Morrison smiled wryly. “But we’ve always been talking four million, not four and a half, Mrs. Stratton, let’s not forget that, shall we?”

Meredith made no response.

She rose and walked across to the bank of windows overlooking the lake, and stood there staring out at the view for a few moments.

Finally, when she swung around, she said, “You want the inn. I want to sell it. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll compromise. I’ll sell it to you for three point five million.”

The Morrisons exchanged pointed glances.

At last Philip Morrison said, “I’d like to do it, but I just don’t think I can. I can’t raise any more.”

“You could go to your bank,” Meredith suggested, “and get a loan, or, better still, a mortgage on the inn.”

Philip Morrison stared at her. But he remained silent.

“I can introduce you to the right bank,” Meredith volunteered, wanting to conclude the deal.

“Do you think they would give me a mortgage on the inn?” he asked, taking the bait.

“I’m pretty certain, yes. There’s something else I’ll do. I’ll have my real estate lawyer structure a reasonable payment schedule, one that won’t cripple you.”

Elizabeth Morrison said, “That’s very decent of you.”

Meredith answered, “I want to make the deal and I don’t want to gouge you. You want to make the deal and I’m sure you don’t want to cheat me.”

“Never! We’re not people like that!” the other woman exclaimed indignantly.

“I must say, you’re making it very tempting,” Morrison muttered, directing his gaze at Meredith. “Making it hard to resist.”

“Then don’t resist, Mr. Morrison,” Meredith said, walking back to the fireplace.

He got to his feet when she drew to a stop next to his chair.

Meredith thrust out her hand. “Come on, let’s not haggle. Let’s make the deal. It’s good for us both, beneficial to us both.”

He hesitated only fractionally. Then he took her hand and shook it. “All right, Mrs. Stratton, you’ve got a deal. Three and a half million dollars it is.”

Meredith nodded and smiled at him.

He returned her smile.

Elizabeth Morrison came over and shook Meredith’s hand.

Paul Ince, who had been on pins and needles throughout this negotiation, congratulated everyone, then said, “I think this calls for a toast. Let’s go to the bar and I’ll open a bottle of Dom Pérignon.”

“What a great idea, Paul,” Meredith said, leading the way out of the library.

On the drive back to New York City, Meredith gave only fleeting thought to Hilltops. She had accomplished what she had set out to do; she had sold the inn for the amount she wanted through her shrewdness, and she was well satisfied. Three and a half million dollars would meet her expansion needs more than adequately.

Before leaving the inn, she had settled everything. Arrangements had been made for the Morrisons to meet with her real estate lawyer, who would draw up the necessary documents next week. She had also set up an appointment for them to see Henry Raphaelson. The banker had sounded amenable during the phone call, had assured her he would endeavor to work things out with the Morrisons.

And so she turned her thoughts to other matters as Jonas drove back to Manhattan. Mostly she focused her attention on her trip to England, and on the purchase of an inn there. She was confident she would like one of the two Patsy Canton had found. With luck, she would be able to bring that bit of business to a conclusion fairly quickly, so that she could go to Paris to see Agnes D’Auberville.

Patsy had invited her to lunch on Sunday so that they could go over business matters and map out a plan, and in so doing save time. The general idea was that they would travel to the north of England on Monday, going first to Cumbria. After looking at the inn located in the Lake District, they would drive down to Yorkshire to see the one in the dales.

When she had asked Patsy which of the two inns she preferred, her partner had been somewhat evasive. “The one in Keswick needs much less done to it,” she had said, and then clammed up.

When Meredith had pressed her further, Patsy had refused to make any more comments. “I want this to be your decision and yours alone,” Patsy had murmured. “If I give you my opinion now, before you’ve seen either hotel, I’ll be influencing you, setting you up in advance. So don’t press me.”

It had been Patsy’s suggestion that if she had no reason to return to London, she should fly to Paris from the Leeds-Bradford Airport. “There’re lots of flights to Paris from there and also from Manchester, which is nearby.” Meredith had agreed that this was a great idea, since it would save so much time.

Leaning back against the car seat, she closed her eyes, thinking of the packing she still had to do, trying to decide what clothes to take. Unexpectedly, she thought of Reed Jamison and the dinner date she had made with him. The mere idea of seeing him filled her with dismay, but she knew she must keep the appointment if she were to break off with him.

It was never on, she thought, sitting up, glancing out of the window. Their relationship had never really lifted off the ground, although lately he seemed to believe otherwise. In an effort to make herself feel better, she adopted a positive attitude, assured herself that it was going to be easy. He would understand. After all, he was a grown man.

Deep down Meredith knew she was wrong in this assessment of him. Instinctively, she felt he was going to be difficult. Her dismay turned into apprehension.

CHAPTER FOUR

“I know you thought I was being stubborn the other day,” Patsy Canton said, “when I wouldn’t discuss the inns with you, but—”

“More like evasive,” Meredith interrupted.

“Not evasive, not stubborn either. Just cautious. I didn’t want you to get any preconceived ideas, especially from me, before you saw the inns. But now I can give you a sort of—preview, shall we say. The owner of the inn near Lake Windermere in the Lakes sent us a batch of photographs. They arrived yesterday. Let me get them for you.”

Patsy pushed herself out of the chair, walked across the small red sitting room of her house in London’s Belgravia, where she and Meredith were having a drink before lunch on Sunday.

In her late thirties, she was an attractive woman, in a way more handsome than pretty, almost as tall as Meredith and well built. Her hair was blonde, cut short, and it curled all over her head; her gray eyes were large and full of intelligence. But it was her flawless English complexion that everyone commented on.

Pausing at the small Georgian desk, Patsy picked up a large envelope and walked back to the sofa, where she sat down next to Meredith.

“Ian Grainger, the owner of Heronside, is rather proud of the pictures. He took them himself, last spring and summer.” So saying, she handed the envelope to Meredith, who pulled out the photographs eagerly.

After a few seconds spent looking at them, she turned to Patsy and said, “I’m not surprised he’s proud of them. The pictures are beautiful. So is Heronside, if these are anything to go by.”

“Very much so, Meredith. In a way, the photographs don’t really do the inn and the grounds justice. There’s such a sense of luxury in the rooms, you feel pampered just walking into one of them. The whole inn is very well done, lovely antiques and fabrics, and I know you’ll like the decorative schemes, the overall ambiance. As for the grounds, they’re breathtaking, don’t you think?”

Meredith nodded, shuffled through the pictures again, and picked one of them out. It was a woodland setting. The ground was carpeted with irises and rafts of sunlight slanted down through the leafy green canopies of the trees. Just beyond were brilliant yellow daffodils growing on a slope, and, far beyond this, a stretch of the lake could be seen—vast, placid, silvery, glistening in the sun.

“Look, Patsy,” Meredith said, and handed it to her partner. “Isn’t this gorgeous?”

“Yes, and most especially the slope covered in daffodils. Doesn’t it remind you of Wordsworth’s poem?”

Meredith stared at her.

“The one about the daffodils. Don’t you know it?”

Meredith shook her head.

Patsy confided, “It’s one of my favorites.” Almost involuntarily, she began to recite it.

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

“It’s lovely,” Meredith said.

“Didn’t you learn it at school?”

“No,” Meredith murmured.

Patsy went on. “I like the last verse best of all. Would you care to hear it?”

“Please,” Meredith replied. “You recite poetry extremely well.”

Once more Patsy launched into the poem:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

“It’s really beautiful,” Meredith said, smiling at her. “It’s very peaceful…serene.”

“That’s how I feel about it.”

“I think I’ve heard that last verse before. Somewhere. But I’m not sure where,” Meredith murmured. “Not at school, though.” For a moment or two she racked her brain, but try though she did, she could not remember. And yet the poem had struck a chord in her memory, but she was unable to isolate it. The fleeting memory remained elusive.

Patsy remarked, “Unfortunately, I don’t have any pictures of the inn near Ripon. The Millers, who own it, did have a few photos, and they were very good, too. Yet somehow they didn’t quite capture the spirit of the place, its soul. So I decided not to take them. You’ll have to judge it cold when we get to the site.”

“That’s no problem.” Meredith looked at her closely. “But you do like Skell Garth, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, Meredith, very much, otherwise I wouldn’t be dragging you there,” Patsy quickly reassured her partner. “The setting is superb, the surrounding landscape awe-inspiring, picturesque actually. And from the inn there’s a most fabulous view of Fountains Abbey, one of the most beautiful ruins in all of England. Yes, Skell Garth is a unique place.”

“Skell Garth,” Meredith repeated. “You know, when you first mentioned it, I thought it was such an odd name.”

“I suppose it is. Let me explain. The Skell is a river that flows through Ripon and through the land on which both the inn and the abbey stand. Garth is the ancient Yorkshire word for field, and many of the local farmers still refer to their fields as garths.”

“So the name actually means the field of the river Skell. Am I correct?”

Patsy laughed, delighted with Meredith’s astuteness. “You’re absolutely correct! I’ll make a Yorkshirewoman of you yet.”

The two friends and partners sat talking about the inns for a while as they sipped their white wine, and then they moved on, became involved in a long and involved discussion about their business in general.

It was Patsy who brought this to a sudden halt when she jumped up, exclaiming, “Oh my God! I smell something awful. I hope that’s not our lunch getting burnt to a cinder.”

She flew out of the sitting room and ran downstairs to the kitchen.

Meredith charged after her.

Patsy was crouching in front of the oven, looking at the roast, poking around in the pan with a long-handled spoon.

“Is it spoiled?” Meredith asked in concern as she walked in.

“Fortunately not,” Patsy said, straightening. She closed the oven door and swung to face Meredith, grinning. “A couple of potatoes are singed around the edges, but the lamb’s okay. It’s the onions that are a bit scorched. They’re black, actually. Anyway, everything’s ready, well, almost. I hope you’re hungry, because I’ve cooked up a storm.”

“I’m starving. But you didn’t have to go to all this trouble, you know, I was quite happy to take you out to lunch. Or have you come to the hotel.”

“I enjoy doing this occasionally,” Patsy assured her. “It reminds me of my childhood growing up in Yorkshire. And anyway, Meredith, it’s not often you get a traditional English Sunday lunch, now, is it?”

Meredith chuckled. “No, and I’m looking forward to it.”

CHAPTER FIVE

It was a windy afternoon.

A few stray leaves danced around her feet, and her full-length cream tweed cape billowed occasionally as she walked briskly through Green Park.

Meredith did not mind the wind. It was sunny, and this counteracted the sudden gusts, the nip in the air, and she was glad to stretch her legs after sitting so long over lunch with Patsy.

But it had been fun to visit with her old friend and partner, and to catch up on everything, both business and personal. Also, Meredith always enjoyed going to Patsy’s little doll’s house, which is the way she thought of it. Situated in a mews in Belgravia, the house had four floors; it was charmingly decorated, very much in the style they used in the inns. This was a lush country look, which was built around good antique wood pieces, a melange of interesting fabrics skillfully mixed and matched, vibrant colors carefully coordinated to each other plus a selection of unusual accessories.

As Meredith walked on, her thoughts settled on Patsy, of whom she was extremely fond. It was her New York banker, Henry Raphaelson, who had introduced them in 1984. Henry had known Patsy from her teenage days, since he had been for many years a close friend and business associate of her father’s, until his death a merchant banker in the City.

Patsy and she had taken to each other at once, and, after several constructive meetings, they had decided to go into business together, opening a London office of Havens Incorporated.

In the ensuing years Patsy had been good for the company, a great asset. She was as solid as a rock, hardworking, dependable, devoted, and loyal. While she was not as visionary or as imaginative as Agnes D’Auberville, Patsy more than made up for these minor shortcomings because she was loaded with common sense. Also, her talent for public relations had worked well for Havens. There wasn’t a hotel in England that received as much publicity and press attention as Haddon Fields in the Cotswolds, and all of it was positive. In fact, they had never had a negative write-up in the entire ten years the inn had been open.

When Meredith had expressed an interest in opening a hotel in France, Patsy had taken her to Paris to meet Agnes D’Auberville. The two young women had attended the Sorbonne at the same time, which was when they first met, and they had been good friends since those youthful days in Paris.

Agnes, like Patsy two years earlier, had been looking to invest inherited money in a business she could be involved in on a full-time basis. And so she had jumped at the chance to open a Paris branch of Havens Incorporated, and had plunged enthusiastically into the creation of the inn situated in the Loire Valley.

Meredith and Agnes had found the Château de Cormeron, which stood on the banks of the beautiful Indre River and was in the center of the Loire Valley. After purchasing the château, they had spent almost a year getting it into proper shape and turning it into an inn. Many of the rooms had needed new floors, some new ceilings; they had had to install central heating and air-conditioning; almost all the plumbing had to be replaced, as had the wiring. Once this had been done, they had set about decorating it in the appropriate style, mostly using French country furniture, wonderful old tapestries, luxurious traditional fabrics, and unique accessories culled from local antique shops.

They had put a tremendous amount of energy, effort, talent, and money into its remodeling and redecoration, but the transformation was so stunning, they both knew it had been well worth it.

And much to their gratification, it had proved to be a tremendous success as a small hotel. Château de Cormeron was close to many of the great châteaux of the Loire, such as Chinon, Chenonceaux, Azay-le-Rideau, Loches, and Mont-poupon, all open to the public and especially popular with foreign visitors.

Well-heeled tourists gravitated to their charming little Château de Cormeron, seeking its luxury, comfort, and superlative service, which was becoming renowned, its bucolic surroundings, and its proximity to so many famous châteaux. And the fact that the hotel boasted one of the finest restaurants in the Loire region did it no harm.

Agnes D’Auberville had become as good a friend as Patsy, as well as a most dependable business partner, and all three women enjoyed a good relationship.

Patsy, like Meredith, was divorced with two children, twin boys of ten who were away at boarding school. Agnes, who was thirty-eight, the same age as Patsy, was married to Alain D’Auberville, the well-known stage actor, and they had a small daughter, Chloe, who was six.

I’ve been lucky with them, Meredith thought as she completed her circle around Green Park and went out into Piccadilly. We all balance each other very well, and they’ve both done a great deal to make Havens work in Europe, been instrumental in its success.

Drawing alongside the Ritz Hotel, she stood at the curb, waiting for the lights to change. Once they did, she crossed Piccadilly and headed back to Claridge’s on Brook Street.

Meredith had always liked walking around London, and she was thoroughly enjoying her stroll, feeling invigorated by the brisk air and the exercise. Turning down Hay Hill, she went up into Berkeley Square. But as she traversed it, she couldn’t help thinking that the little park in the center looked a bit bleak today, with its bare trees and patches of dirty snow on the shriveled brown grass.

On the other hand, she took great pleasure in looking at the lovely old buildings in Mayfair, which was the one area of London she knew best. She had been coming here for twenty-one years, ever since her marriage to David Layton in 1974. Twenty-three she had been at the time, and so young in a variety of ways; yet in others she had been rather grown up.

England had made a lasting impression on her. She felt comfortable on its shores, and she enjoyed the British people, their idiosyncracies as well as their good manners and civility, not to mention their great sense of humor.

David Layton had been a transplanted Englishman, living and working in Connecticut when she met him. After their wedding at Silver Lake, he had brought her to London to meet his sister Claire, her husband, and children.

Meredith had liked David, and she had loved him well enough to marry him, and she had felt regretful that their marriage had foundered. Their genuine attempts to make it work had come to nothing, and in the end divorce had seemed to be the best, the only, solution.

The one good thing that had come out of this rather dubious and tenuous union was their son, Jonathan. The sad thing was, David never saw his son these days. He had moved to California in the 1980s and had never made any effort to come east to see Jonathan. Nor had he ever invited Jonathan to visit him on the West Coast.

David’s loss, Meredith muttered under her breath. She couldn’t help wishing that things were somewhat different, for her son’s sake at least, though Jon didn’t seem to care that he was so neglected by David. He never mentioned his father.

Being a single parent all those years had been a strain on her at times, Meredith was the first to admit it. But Jon had turned out well, as had her darling Cat. And so it had been worth it in the end…the hard work, the sacrifices, the endless compromises, the cajoling, the bullying, and the unconditional loving. Being a good mother had taken its toll on her life, but she was proud of the children. And of herself in a funny way.

Those years of bringing up Cat and Jon alone, plus creating and developing her business, had left her little time to meet another man, let alone become involved with him. There had been a few boyfriends over the years, but somehow her children and her work had intruded, got in the way. Deep down, she had never really minded. Her children had been her whole world, still were.

Circumstances had been right when she had met Brandon Leonard four years earlier. But he was a married man. In no time at all, she had come to understand that not only was he not separated, as he claimed, but he had no intention of ever leaving his wife or getting a divorce. Simply put, Brandon wanted his wife. He also wanted a mistress. Since she was not a candidate for the latter role, she had terminated their friendship, and in no uncertain terms.

Then this past September, on a trip to London, Patsy had taken her to the fancy opening of an exhibition of sculpture at the posh Lardner Gallery in Bond Street.

And there, lurking among the Arps and the Brancusis, the Moores, the Hepworths, and the Giacomettis had been Reed Jamison. The owner of the gallery.

Tall, dark, good-looking, charismatic. The most attractive man she had met in a long time. And seemingly very available. “Beware,” Patsy had warned. When she had asked her what she meant, Patsy had said, “Watch it. He’s brilliant but difficult.” Again she had pressed Patsy, asked her to elucidate further. Patsy then answered her enigmatically. “Save us all from the brooding Byronic hero. Oh dear, shades of Heathcliff.”

Meredith had only partially understood, and then before she could blink, Reed Jamison, having taken one look at her, was in hot pursuit.

Drawn to him initially, she had fallen under his spell; but gradually, over the following months, she had begun to feel suddenly and unexpectedly ill at ease with him. And she had begun to pull away from the relationship within herself.

On his last visit to New York, in late November, she had been turned off. He had been morose, argumentative, and possessive. Furthermore, she had detected a bullying attitude in him, and this had alarmed her.

Tonight she was going to tell him that she could not see him again, that their relationship, such as it was, had come to an end. She wasn’t looking forward to it, but she knew it must be done.

“Why bother?” Patsy had said over lunch earlier. “Have dinner with him tonight. Say nothing. Tomorrow we’re going to the Lake District and Yorkshire. And then you’re off to Paris. Don’t make yourself sick over this. Avoid a troublesome confrontation.”

“I have to tell him it’s over,” Meredith answered. “Don’t you see, he’ll be in my life, pestering me, circling me, until I make it clear I don’t want him anywhere near me.”

“What went wrong?” Patsy asked curiously.

“Reed went wrong. He’s just too complex a man for me.”

“I hate to say I told you so,” Patsy murmured.

“It’s all right, you can say it, Patsy. Because you did warn me, and you were right about him all along.”

They had then gone on to talk about other things, but now Meredith could not help wondering if maybe Patsy was right. Might it not be infinitely easier simply to have dinner with Reed and say nothing?

Maybe I should do that, she thought as she turned into Brook Street.

“Good afternoon, madam,” the uniformed doorman outside Claridge’s said as she went up the steps.

“Good afternoon,” she responded, smiling pleasantly, and pushed through the door that led into the hotel.

Martin, one of the concierges, greeted her as she crossed the lobby, making for the elevator.

“Meredith!”

She stopped in her tracks, freezing as she recognized the cultivated masculine voice.

Slowly turning, she pasted a smile on her face as she moved toward the man who had called her name. “Reed! Hello! But you’re a bit early, aren’t you?”

He smiled and leaned into her, put his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. He kissed her cheek. “I’m here having tea with friends.” He jerked his head in the direction of the salon, which opened off the lobby, and indicated a group of people at one of the tables. Afternoon tea was being served and a string quartet played.

“Darling, it’s lovely to see you,” he went on, staring deeply into her eyes. “I’ve missed you, but then, I told you that on the phone this morning. I was actually just coming out to ring you up in your room, to invite you to come down and join us, when I saw you heading for the lift.” He took hold of her arm firmly, and drew her toward the salon.

Meredith resisted and held her ground, shaking her head. “Reed, I can’t. It’s so nice of you to invite me, and thank you, but there are a number of things I must do before dinner.” Peeking at her watch, she added. “It’s almost five. We’re still meeting at six-thirty, aren’t we?”

“Of course. Unless you want to make it earlier. Look, do join us now,” he pressed, and once more tried to draw her into the salon.

Meredith said softly, “Please, Reed, don’t make a scene here. I just can’t have tea. I’ve some phone calls, and I must change for dinner.”

He let go of her arm abruptly and stepped away from her. “Very well,” he said, sounding suddenly grudging. “Don’t get frightfully dressed up. I’m taking you slumming tonight.”

Giving him a fraudulent smile, she murmured, “I’ll see you in a short while, Reed.” Not giving him a chance to say another word, Meredith spun around on her heel and walked rapidly to the elevator.

Once she was inside her suite, she threw off her cape and unbuttoned the jacket of her cream pantsuit, then went through into the bedroom. Pulling open the wardrobe door, she looked at her clothes hanging there, settled on a black pantsuit for dinner, wishing deep down inside herself that she had never met Reed Jamison.

CHAPTER SIX

At precisely six-thirty there was a knock on the door of the suite, and Meredith knew it was Reed Jamison.

Walking out of the bedroom into the sitting room, buttoning her jacket, she arranged a pleasant smile on her face before opening the door.

“Not too early, I hope,” Reed said, kissing her on the cheek.

“Exactly on time,” Meredith replied, and stood back in order to let him walk into the suite. “I’ll just get my bag and coat and we can be off.”

“Oh but it’s far too early for the restaurant, darling. Why don’t we have a drink here first.” He put his overcoat on a chair and sauntered into the middle of the sitting room. After giving it a sweeping glance, he went to the fireplace, where he draped himself against the mantel, striking an elegant pose.

“All right,” Meredith said, endeavoring to be gracious, although she couldn’t help wishing he had not come up to the suite. She had fully expected him to phone her from the lobby. Pressing the bell for the floor waiter and clearing her throat, she asked, “What would you like?”

“Scotch and soda, please, my dear.”

“Where are we going for dinner?” she asked, making small talk.

“Ah-ha, that’s a surprise!” he exclaimed.

“You said we were going slumming.”

“I’m taking you to a wonderful Chinese restaurant, rather off the beaten track. But you’ll enjoy it. The place has tremendous local color, and the food is the best Chinese in London. Genuine, too, not the bastardized stuff served in fancy West End restaurants.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” she murmured and then moved out into the foyer of the suite as the waiter knocked and then let himself in. After ordering their drinks, she returned to the fireside and sat down.

Looking at her intently, shifting his stance slightly and leaning forward, Reed said, “I’m really rather put out with you, darling.”

“Oh?” Meredith stared at him questioningly. “Because I didn’t want to come down to tea and meet your friends?”

“No, no, of course not. That didn’t matter. But I am somewhat surprised that you went to lunch with Patsy when I had invited you to come over to the house.”

Meredith was taken aback. “But, Reed, Patsy and I had a lot of business to discuss. I told you last week, when I was still in New York, that I had many things to attend to on this trip, and—”

“Oh really!” he cut in with a sardonic laugh. “You could have dealt with Patsy on the phone, surely.”

“No, I couldn’t!” she shot back, her voice rising in exasperation. She was irritated with him; she realized, yet again, that he did not really take her work seriously. Suppressing a rush of impatience, she went on more calmly. “We had business to discuss, and I was anxious to see her.”

“But not anxious to see me.”

“Reed, don’t be—”

There was a loud knock and the waiter entered with the tray of drinks. Meredith got up, thanked him, and handed him some of the coins she kept in the ashtray for tips. After giving Reed his drink, she picked up her own, and sat on the sofa.

“Cheers,” Reed said, and took a swallow of his scotch and soda.

“Cheers.” Meredith merely touched the glass to her lips, then put it on the coffee table. She had no desire to drink tonight.

Once again Reed looked at her; this time he was smiling.

She was relieved the awkward moment had passed. It struck her that he seemed less morose tonight, and certainly he was in a better mood than he had been earlier, when she had run into him in the lobby.

“Have you told Patsy you’re planning to move to London within the next few months?” he asked.

Meredith gaped at him. “What makes you say that, Reed? I’m not moving anywhere.”

“When I was in New York in November you certainly indicated that you intended to live in London.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Oh Meredith, how can you say such a thing! I practically proposed to you, and I told you it was hard for me to go on like this any longer, that we couldn’t continue our affair if we were separated by the Atlantic Ocean. I made it quite clear I wanted you here with me. Very much so. And you certainly acquiesced.”

“Reed, that’s not true, I didn’t!”

“You did!”

“You imagined it, Reed. Never in a million years would I lead you to believe such a thing.”

He stared at her incredulously, sudden anger flaring in his dark eyes. “I distinctly remember telling you that I needed you here with me in London. And you agreed to come.”

Meredith had no recollection of this at all and was about to say so when he came and sat down next to her on the sofa.

“What’s wrong with you, darling? Why are you behaving like this?” he asked, moving closer, draping his arm along the back of the sofa. “Don’t be difficult, my dear, you know how I feel about you. I need you, Meredith, and I need you here. Not in New York, but living with me in London. I told you this when I was in the States, and I assumed you would get rid of the business and move as soon as you could. Settle here permanently with me.”

“Reed, you’ve truly misunderstood. I don’t know how that happened…but it did, somehow. And I’ve no intention of giving up my business.”

“Then don’t, darling. If you want to work, you can, although it’s really not necessary. I can support us extremely well, you know that. Forget the gallery, that’s not important, merely my hobby. Just remember that I do have a very large private income from my trust. Monty might be inheriting the old man’s title when he dies, after all he is the eldest son, but I’ve got Mummy’s money.”

Meredith sat gazing at him mutely. She was at a complete loss for words and filled with acute dismay.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Reed pulled her into his arms. He was a tall man, well built and strong, and he caught hold of her hard, held her in a viselike grip, pressing his mouth on hers.

She struggled, managed to partially push him away, and pulled herself up on the sofa, straining to extricate herself from his arms.

Unexpectedly, Reed let go of her as abruptly as he had grabbed her. Giving her an odd look, he said in a quiet, icy voice, “Why did you pull away from me in such a violent manner as if I’m suddenly a leper? What’s wrong?”

Meredith bit her lip, said nothing. Then she sprang to her feet, hurried over to the window, and stood looking out.

A cold silence filled the room.

Meredith was shaking inside. She wanted to get this over. Be done with him. End the whole thing as gracefully as she could. But he was being difficult, and worse, imagining things that hadn’t happened.

After a moment or two, when she was calmer, she turned to face him and said slowly, in her kindest voice, “Reed, listen to me…things are…well, not right between us anymore. They haven’t been for weeks.”

“How on earth can you say that! We had a wonderful time in New York. Only a month ago, unless I’m sadly mistaken.”

Meredith shook her head, her dismay intensifying. She wanted to be considerate, to let him down lightly, yet she knew within herself that she must make her feelings absolutely clear to him. “It wasn’t wonderful, Reed, at least not for me. I realized you and I were completely incompatible, and not suited to each other at all. I began to feel ill at ease with you, and I certainly knew our relationship was on the skids, that it couldn’t possibly work.”

“That’s not so, and you know it. If you lived here and we weren’t conducting our relationship long distance, everything would be entirely different. Please move to London to be with me, Meredith.”

“Reed, I’ve just told you, as far as I’m concerned we don’t have a future together. And anyway, I have such a huge commitment to my business.”

“Oh don’t go on so, Meredith. I can’t believe for one moment that you’re such a dyed-in-the-wool career woman as you claim to be. I couldn’t love that kind of woman, and I do love you.”

Meredith was silent.

He repeated, “I love you.”

“Oh Reed, I’m so sorry…but I just don’t feel the same way.”

“That’s not what you led me to believe,” he said softly, his eyes narrowing.

“I admit I was infatuated with you last fall, that’s true. But it was an infatuation, nothing stronger or more lasting. I can’t make a commitment to you, I just can’t.”

“It’s been so good between us, Meredith. Why are you saying these things?”

Taking a deep breath, Meredith plunged in. “I very quickly came to understand that you don’t take my life seriously. Not my personal family life with my children, and certainly not my work. I will not negate my children’s existence for you, or anyone else for that matter, and I will never give up my work. It’s far too important to me. I’ve put too many years and too much effort into my business.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.