“You can’t imagine what she pulled out of her briefcase. This little laptop computer, a calculator I’m sure could run equations for the space shuttle, even a fax.”
“She’s brilliant.” With a sigh, Laura sat down on one of the wrought-iron chairs and slipped out of her shoes. “Templeton would hire her in a heartbeat, but she’s very stubborn about not working for family. Bittle and Associates is lucky to have her.”
“What is this crap about seaweed?” Kate shouted.
“It’s a spa treatment,” Margo called back. “I think it’s deductible because—”
“Just let me do the thinking. How the hell can you owe fifteen thousand dollars to Valentino? How many outfits can you wear?”
Margo sat down. “It probably wouldn’t be smart for me to tell her that was for one cocktail dress.”
“I’d say not,” Laura agreed. “The kids will be home from school in an hour or so. They always put her in a good mood. We’ll have a family dinner to celebrate your homecoming.”
“Did you tell Peter I was here?”
“Of course. You know, I think I’ll make sure we have champagne chilled.”
Before Laura could rise, Margo covered her hand. “He’s not pleased with the news.”
“Don’t be silly. Certainly he’s pleased.” But she began to twist her wedding ring around her finger, a sure sign of agitation. “He’s always glad to see you.”
“Laura, it isn’t nearly twenty-five years of knowing you that lets me see when you’re lying. It’s that you’re so lousy at it. He doesn’t want me here.”
Excuses trembled on her tongue, but they were useless. It was true, Laura admitted, lying was a skill she’d never mastered. “This is your home. Peter understands that even if he isn’t completely comfortable with the situation. I want you here, Annie wants you here, and the kids are thrilled that you’re here. Now I’m not only going to go see about that champagne, I’m going to go bring a bottle up here.”
“Good idea.” She would have to worry about guilt later. “Maybe it’ll help Kate keep me in the black.”
“This mortgage is fifteen days overdue,” Kate called out. “And you’re over the limit on your Visa. Jesus, Margo.”
“I’ll bring two bottles,” Laura decided and kept a smile in place until she’d left Margo’s room.
She went to her own, wanting a moment to herself. She’d thought she had gotten over her anger, but she hadn’t. It was still there, she realized, high and bitter in her throat. She paced the sitting room to work it off. The sitting room that was becoming more of a sanctuary. She could come here, close herself in with the warm colors and scents, and tell herself that she had correspondence to answer, some little piece of needlework to finish.
But more often she came here to work off an emotion that choked her.
Perhaps she should have expected Peter’s reaction, been prepared for it. But she hadn’t been. She never seemed to be prepared for Peter’s reactions any more. How could it be thatafter ten years of marriage she didn’t seem to know him at all?
She stopped by his office on the way home from her committee meeting on the Summer Ball. She hummed to herself as she took the private elevator up to the penthouse suite of Templeton Monterey. Peter preferred the suite to the executive offices on the hotel’s ground level. It was quieter, he said, made it easier to concentrate.
From her days of assisting and learning the business in the nerve center of the sales and reservations offices, she had to agree. Perhaps it separated him from the pulse, from the people, but Peter knew his job.
The sheer beauty of the day, added to the pleasure of having her old friend home again, lifted her mood. With a spring in her step, she crossed the silver-toned carpet to the airy reception area.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Ridgeway.” The receptionist offered a quick smile but continued working and didn’t quite meet Laura’s eyes. “I think Mr. Ridgeway is
“She’s brilliant.” With a sigh, Laura sat down on one of the wrought-iron chairs and slipped out of her shoes. “Templeton would hire her in a heartbeat, but she’s very stubborn about not working for family. Bittle and Associates is lucky to have her.”
“What is this crap about seaweed?” Kate shouted.
“It’s a spa treatment,” Margo called back. “I think it’s deductible because—”
“Just let me do the thinking. How the hell can you owe fifteen thousand dollars to Valentino? How many outfits can you wear?”
Margo sat down. “It probably wouldn’t be smart for me to tell her that was for one cocktail dress.”
“I’d say not,” Laura agreed. “The kids will be home from school in an hour or so. They always put her in a good mood. We’ll have a family dinner to celebrate your homecoming.”
“Did you tell Peter I was here?”
“Of course. You know, I think I’ll make sure we have champagne chilled.”
Before Laura could rise, Margo covered her hand. “He’s not pleased with the news.”
“Don’t be silly. Certainly he’s pleased.” But she began to twist her wedding ring around her finger, a sure sign of agitation. “He’s always glad to see you.”
“Laura, it isn’t nearly twenty-five years of knowing you that lets me see when you’re lying. It’s that you’re so lousy at it. He doesn’t want me here.”
Excuses trembled on her tongue, but they were useless. It was true, Laura admitted, lying was a skill she’d never mastered. “This is your home. Peter understands that even if he isn’t completely comfortable with the situation. I want you here, Annie wants you here, and the kids are thrilled that you’re here. Now I’m not only going to go see about that champagne, I’m going to go bring a bottle up here.”
“Good idea.” She would have to worry about guilt later. “Maybe it’ll help Kate keep me in the black.”
“This mortgage is fifteen days overdue,” Kate called out. “And you’re over the limit on your Visa. Jesus, Margo.”
“I’ll bring two bottles,” Laura decided and kept a smile in place until she’d left Margo’s room.
She went to her own, wanting a moment to herself. She’d thought she had gotten over her anger, but she hadn’t. It was still there, she realized, high and bitter in her throat. She paced the sitting room to work it off. The sitting room that was becoming more of a sanctuary. She could come here, close herself in with the warm colors and scents, and tell herself that she had correspondence to answer, some little piece of needlework to finish.
But more often she came here to work off an emotion that choked her.
Perhaps she should have expected Peter’s reaction, been prepared for it. But she hadn’t been. She never seemed to be prepared for Peter’s reactions any more. How could it be thatafter ten years of marriage she didn’t seem to know him at all?
She stopped by his office on the way home from her committee meeting on the Summer Ball. She hummed to herself as she took the private elevator up to the penthouse suite of Templeton Monterey. Peter preferred the suite to the executive offices on the hotel’s ground level. It was quieter, he said, made it easier to concentrate.
From her days of assisting and learning the business in the nerve center of the sales and reservations offices, she had to agree. Perhaps it separated him from the pulse, from the people, but Peter knew his job.
The sheer beauty of the day, added to the pleasure of having her old friend home again, lifted her mood. With a spring in her step, she crossed the silver-toned carpet to the airy reception area.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Ridgeway.” The receptionist offered a quick smile but continued working and didn’t quite meet Laura’s eyes. “I think Mr. Ridgeway is
Similar Books
