A Will And A Way

“Come along, Ginger, we’ll give you a ride to the airport.” Biff pulled Ginger’s hand through his arm, patted it and smiled down at Pandora. “I’d be worried if I didn’t know you better. You won’t last six days with Michael much less six months. Beastly temper,” he said confidentially to Michael. “The two of you’ll murder each other before a week’s out.”

“Don’t spend the old man’s money yet,” Michael warned. “We’ll make the six months if for no other reason than to spite you.” He smiled when he said it, a chummy, well-meaning smile that took the arrogance from Biff’s face.

“We’ll see who wins the game.” Straight backed, Biff turned toward the door. His wife walked out behind him without having said a word since she’d walked in.

“Biff,” Ginger began as they walked out. “What are you going to do with all those matches?”

“Burn his bridges, I hope,” Pandora muttered. “Well, Michael, though I can’t say there was a lot of love before, there’s nearly none lost now.”

“Are you worried about alienating them?”

With a shrug of her shoulders, she walked toward a bowl of roses, then gave him a considering look. “Well, I’ve never had any trouble alienating you. Why is that, do you suppose?”

“Jolley always said we were too much alike.”

“Really?” Haughty, she lifted a brow. “I find myself disagreeing with him again. You and I, Michael Donahue, have almost nothing in common.”

“If that’s so we have six months to prove it.” On impulse he moved closer and put a finger under her chin. “You know, darling, you might’ve been stuck with Biff.”

“I’d’ve given the place to the plants first.”

He grinned. “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be.” But she didn’t move away from him. Not yet. It was an interesting feeling to be this close without snarling. “The only difference is you don’t bore me.”

“That’s enough,” he said with a hint of a smile. “I’m easily flattered.” Intrigued, he flicked a finger down her cheek. It was still pale, but her eyes were direct and steady. “No, we won’t bore each other Pandora. In six months we might experience a lot of things, but boredom won’t be one of them.”

It might be an interesting feeling, she discovered, but it wasn’t quite a safe one. It was best to remember that he didn’t find her appealing as a woman but would, for the sake of his own ego, string her along if she permitted it. “I don’t flatter easily. I haven’t decided exactly what your reasons are for going through with this farce, but I’m doing it only for Uncle Jolley. I can set up my equipment here quite easily.”

“And I can write here quite easily.”

Pandora plucked a rose from the bowl. “If you can call those implausible scripts writing.”

“The same way you call the bangles you string together art.”

Color came back to her cheeks and that pleased him. “You wouldn’t know art if it reached up and bit you on the nose. My jewelry expresses emotion.”

His smile showed pleasant interest. “How much is lust going for these days?”

“I would have guessed you’d be very familiar with the cost.” Pandora fumbled for a tissue, sneezed into it, then shut her bag with a click. “Most of the women you date have price tags.”

It amused him, and it showed. “I thought we were talking about work.”

“My profession is a time-honored one, while yours—yours stops for commercial breaks. And furthermore—”

“I beg your pardon.”

Fitzhugh paused at the doorway of the library. He wanted nothing more than to be shed of the McVie clan and have a quiet, soothing drink. “Am I to assume that you’ve both decided to accept the terms of the will?”

Six months, she thought. It was going to be a long, long winter.

Six months, he thought. He was going to have the first daffodil he found in April bronzed.

“You can start counting the days at the end of the week,” he told Fitzhugh. “Agreed, cousin?”

Pandora set her chin. “Agreed.”

Chapter Two

It was a pleasant trip from Manhattan along the Hudson River toward the Catskills. Pandora had always enjoyed it. The drive gave her time to clear her mind and relax. But then, she’d always taken it at her own whim, her own pace, her own convenience. Pandora made it a habit to do everything just that way. This time, however, there was more involved than her own wants and wishes. Uncle Jolley had boxed her in.

He’d known she’d have to go along with the terms of the will. Not for the money. He’d been too smart to think she could be lured into such a ridiculous scheme with money. But the house, her ties to it, her need for the continuity of family. That’s what he’d hooked her with.

Now she had to leave Manhattan behind for six months. Oh, she’d run into the city for a few hours here and there, but it was hardly the same as living in the center of things. She’d always liked that—being in the center, surrounded by movement, being able to watch and become involved whenever she liked. Just as she’d always liked long weekends in the solitude of Jolley’s Folley.

She’d been raised that way, to enjoy and make the most of whatever environment she was in. Her parents were gypsies. Wealth had meant they’d traveled first class instead of in covered wagons. If there’d been campfires, there had also been a servant to gather kindling, but the spirit was the same.

Before she’d been fifteen, Pandora had been to more than thirty countries. She’d eaten sushi in Tokyo, roamed the moors in Cornwall, bargained in Turkish markets. A succession of tutors had traveled with them so that by her calculations, she’d spent just under two years in a classroom environment before college.

The exotic, vagabond childhood had given her a taste for variety—in people, in foods, in styles. And oddly enough the exposure to widely diverse cultures and mores had formed in her an unshakable desire for a home and a sense of belonging.

Though her parents liked to meander through countries, recording everything with pen and film, Pandora had missed a central point. Where was home? This year in Mexico, next year in Athens. Her parents made a name for themselves with their books and articles on the unusual, but Pandora wanted roots. She’d discovered she’d have to find them for herself.

She’d chosen New York, and in her way, Uncle Jolley.

Now, because her uncle and his home had become her central point, she was agreeing to spend six months living with a man she could hardly tolerate so that she could inherit a fortune she didn’t want or need. Life, she’d discovered long ago, never moved in straight lines.

Jolley McVie’s ultimate joke, she thought as she turned up the long drive toward his Folley. Well, he could throw them together, but he couldn’t make them stick.

Still, she’d have felt better if she’d been sure of Michael. Was it the lure of the millions of dollars, or an affection for an old man that would bring him to the Catskills? She knew his Logan’s Run was in its very successful fourth year, and that he’d had other lucrative ventures in television. But money was a seduction itself. After all, her Uncle Carlson had more than he could ever spend, yet he was already taking the steps for a probate of the will.

That didn’t worry her. Uncle Jolley had believed in hiring the best. If Fitzhugh had drawn up the will, it was air-tight. What worried her was Michael Donahue.

Because of the trap she’d fallen into, she’d found herself thinking of him a great deal too much over the past couple of days. Ally or enemy, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she was going to have to live with him. Or around him. She hoped the house was big enough.

By the time she arrived, she was worn-out from the drive and the lingering head cold. Though her equipment and supplies had been shipped the day before, she still had three cases in the car. Deciding to take one at a time, Pandora popped the trunk, then simply looked at Jolley’s Folley.

He’d built it when he’d been forty, so the house was already over a half century old. It went in all directions at once, as if he’d never been able to decide where he wanted to start and where he wanted to finish. The truth about Jolley, she admitted, was that he’d never wanted to finish. The project, the game, the puzzle, was always more interesting to him before the last pieces were in place.

Without the wings, it might have been a rather somber and sedate late-nineteenth-century mansion. With them, it was a mass of walls and corners, heights and widths. There was no symmetry, yet to Pandora it had always seemed as sturdy as the rock it had been built on.

Some of the windows were long, some were wide, some of them were leaded and some sheer. Jolley had made up his mind then changed it again as he’d gone along.

The stone had come from one of his quarries, the wood from one of his lumberyards. When he’d decided to build a house, he’d started his own construction firm. McVie Construction, Incorporated was one of the five biggest companies in the country.

It struck her suddenly that she owned half of Jolley’s share in the company and her mind spun at how many others. She had interests in baby oil, steel mills, rocket engines and cake mix. Pandora lifted the case and set her teeth. What on earth had she let herself in for?

From the upstairs window, Michael watched her. The jacket she wore was big and baggy with three vivid colors, blue, yellow and pink patched in. The wind caught at her slacks and rippled them from thigh to ankle. She wasn’t looking teary-eyed and pale this time, but grim and resigned. So much the better. He’d been tempted to comfort her during their uncle’s funeral. Only the knowledge that too much sympathy for a woman like Pandora was fatal had prevented him.