A Will And A Way

He’d known her since childhood and had considered her a spoiled brat from the word go. Though she’d often been off for months at a time on one of her parents’ journalistic safaris, they’d seen enough of each other to feed a mutual dislike. Only the fact that she had cared for Jolley had given Michael some tolerance for her. And the fact, he was forced to admit, that she had more honesty and humanity in her than any of their other relations.

There had been a time, he recalled, a brief time, during late adolescence that he’d felt a certain…stirring for her. A purely shallow and physical teenage hunger, Michael assured himself. She’d always had an intriguing face; it could be unrelentingly plain one moment and striking the next, and when she’d hit her teens…well, that had been a natural enough reaction. And it had passed without incident. He now preferred a woman with more subtlety, more gloss and femininity—and shorter fangs.

Whatever he preferred, Michael left the arranging of his own office to wander downstairs.

“Charles, did my shipment come?” Pandora pulled off her leather driving gloves and dropped them on a little round table in the hall. Since Charles was there, the ancient butler who had served her uncle since before she was born, she felt a certain pleasure in coming.

“Everything arrived this morning, miss.” The old man would have taken her suitcase if she hadn’t waved him away.

“No, don’t fuss with that. Where did you have them put everything?”

“In the garden shed in the east yard, as you instructed.”

She gave him a smile and a peck on the cheek, both of which pleased him. His square bulldog’s face grew slightly pink. “I knew I could count on you. I didn’t tell you before how happy I was that you and Sweeney are staying. The place wouldn’t be the same without you serving tea and Sweeney baking cakes.”

Charles managed to pull his back a bit straighter. “We wouldn’t think about going anywhere else, miss. The master would have wanted us to stay.”

But made it possible for them to go, Pandora mused. Leaving each of them three thousand dollars for every year of service. Charles had been with Jolley since the house was built, and Sweeney had come some ten years later. The bequest would have been more than enough for each to retire on. Pandora smiled. Some weren’t made for retirement.

“Charles, I’d love some tea,” she began, knowing if she didn’t distract him, he’d insist on carrying her bags up the long staircase.

“In the drawing room, miss?”

“Perfect. And if Sweeney has any of those little cakes…”

“She’s been baking all morning.” With only the slightest of creaks, he made his way toward the kitchen.

Pandora thought of rich icing loaded with sugar. “I wonder how much weight a person can gain in six months.”

“A steady diet of Sweeney’s cakes wouldn’t hurt you,” Michael said from above her head. “Men are generally more attracted to flesh than bone.”

Pandora spun around, then found herself in the awkward position of having to arch her neck back to see Michael at the top of the stairs. “I don’t center my life around attracting men.”

“I’d be the last one to argue with that.”

He looked quite comfortable, she thought, feeling the first stirrings of resentment. And negligently, arrogantly attractive. From several feet above her head, he leaned against a post and looked down on her as though he was the master. She’d soon put an end to that. Uncle Jolley’s will had been very clear. Share and share alike.

“Since you’re already here and settled in, you can come help me with the rest of my bags.”

He didn’t budge. “I always thought the one point we were in perfect agreement on was feminism.”

Pandora paused at the door to toss a look over her shoulder. “Social and political views aside, if you don’t help me up with them before Charles comes back, he’ll insist on doing it himself. He’s too old to do it and too proud to be told he can’t.” She walked back out and wasn’t surprised when she heard his footsteps on the gravel behind her.

She took a deep breath of crisp autumn air. All in all, it was a lovely day. “Drive up early?”

“Actually, I drove up late last night.”

Pandora turned at the open trunk of her car. “So eager to start the game, Michael?”

If he hadn’t been determined to start off peacefully, he’d have found fault with the tone of her voice, with the look in her eyes. Instead he let it pass. “I wanted to get my office set up today. I was just finishing it when you drove in.”

“Work, work, work,” she said with a long sigh. “You must put in slavish hours to come up with an hour of chase scenes and steam a week.”

Peace wasn’t all that important. As she reached for a suitcase, he closed a hand over her wrist. Later he’d think about how slim it was, how soft. Now he could only think how much he wished she were a man. Then he could’ve belted her. “The amount of work I do and what I produce is of absolutely no concern to you.”

It occurred to Pandora, oddly, she thought, just how much she enjoyed seeing him on the edge of temper. All of her other relatives were so bland, so outwardly civilized. Michael had always been a contrast, and therefore of more interest. Smiling, she allowed her wrist to stay limp.

“Did I indicate that it was? Nothing, I promise you, could be further from the truth. Shall we get these in and have that tea? It’s a bit chilly.”

He’d always admired, grudgingly, how smoothly she could slip into the lady-of-the-manor routine. As a writer who wrote for actors and for viewers, he appreciated natural talent. He also knew how to set a scene to his best advantage. “Tea’s a perfect idea.” He hauled one case out and left the second for her. “We’ll establish some guidelines.”

“Will we?” Pandora pulled out the case, then let the trunk shut quietly. Without another word, she started back toward the house, holding the front door open for him, then breezing by the suitcase she’d left in the main hall. Because she knew Michael was fond of Charles, she hadn’t a doubt he’d pick it up and follow.

The room she always took was on the second floor in the east wing. Jolley had let her decorate it herself, and she’d chosen white on white with a few startling splashes of color. Chartreuse and blazing blue in throw pillows, a long horizontal oil painting, jarring in its colors of sunset, a crimson waist-high urn stuffed with ostrich plumes.

Pandora set her case by the bed, noted with satisfaction that a fire had been laid in the small marble fireplace, then tossed her jacket over a chair.

“I always feel like I’m walking into Better Homes,” he commented as he let her cases drop.

Pandora glanced down at them briefly, then at him. “I’m sure you’re more at home in your own room. It’s more—Field and Stream. I expect tea’s ready.”

He gave her a long, steady survey. Her jacket had concealed the trim cashmere sweater tucked into the narrow waist of her slacks. It reminded Michael quite forcibly just what had begun to attract him all those teenage years ago. For the second time he found himself wishing she were a man.

Though they walked abreast down the stairs, they didn’t speak. In the drawing room, amid the Mideast opulence Jolley had chosen there, Charles was setting up the tea service.

“Oh, you lit the fire. How lovely.” Pandora walked over and began warming her hands. She wanted a moment, just a moment, because for an instant in her room she thought she’d seen something in Michael’s eyes. And she thought she’d felt the same something in response. “I’ll pour, Charles. I’m sure Michael and I won’t need another thing until dinner.”

Casually she glanced around the room, at the flowing drapes, the curvy brocade sofas, the plump pillows and brass urns. “You know, this has always been one of my favorite rooms.” Going to the tea set, she began to fill cups. “I was only twelve when we visited Turkey, but this room always makes me remember it vividly. Right down to the smells in the markets. Sugar?”

“No.” He took the cup from her, plopped a generous slice of cake on a dish, then chose a seat. He preferred the little parlor next door with its tidy English country air. This was the beginning, he thought, with the old butler and plump cook as witnesses. Six months from today, they’d all sign a document swearing that the terms of the will had been adhered to and that would be that. It was the time in between that concerned him.

“Rule number one,” Michael began without preamble. “We’re both in the east wing because it makes it easier for Charles and Sweeney. But—” he paused, hoping to emphasize his point “—both of us will, at all times, respect the other’s area.”

“By all means.” Pandora crossed her legs and sipped her tea.

“Again, because of the staff, it seems fair that we eat at the same time. Therefore, in the interest of survival, we’ll keep the conversations away from professional matters.”

Pandora smiled at him and nibbled on cake. “Oh yes, let’s do keep things personal.”

“You’re a nasty little package—”

“See, we’re off to a perfect start. Rule number two. Neither of us, no matter how bored or restless, will disturb the other during his or her set working hours. I generally work between ten and one, then again between three and six.”

“Rule number three. If one of us is entertaining, the other will make him or herself scarce.”

Pandora’s eyes narrowed, only for a moment. “Oh, and I so wanted to meet your dancer. Rule number four. The first floor is neutral ground and to be shared equally unless specific prior arrangements are made and agreed upon.” She tapped her finger against the arm of the chair. “If we both play fair, we should manage.”

“I don’t have any trouble playing fair. As I recall, you’re the one who cheats.”