“But surely that’s a banker’s business?”
“Yes, it is. What I can’t stand is the way he tries to imply that he’s doing you a favor.”
Camryn laughed. She blew her nose and settled herself more comfortably on the rug at Nell’s feet with her knees drawn up and her arms clasped around them. “I don’t like him, either. But I could be polite to anyone who would give me that loan, and he’s in the business of lending money.”
“Doesn’t sound much like it,” Nell grumbled.
“And now Patrick...” Camryn swallowed hard. “Well, he’s very angry with me just now, so I’m afraid I can’t count on him for help.”
“Patrick is a lot of things, including hot-headed and foolish and judgmental, but he isn’t petty. And he is a businessman. He isn’t going to deny you a loan just out of the sheer, perverse pleasure of seeing you driven out of your home.”
“I think it would make Patrick very happy indeed if I had to give up the Stone House.”
Nell didn’t answer. Her lips were pursed thoughtfully.
What an idiot you are, Camryn told herself, to forget who you’re talking to. She pasted a smile on her face and looked up at Nell, intending to carry it off as a sort of joke. But the old woman’s brightly inquisitive eyes seemed to reach into her soul.
Camryn’s voice was unsteady. “In any case, it isn’t going to matter what Patrick thinks, in the long run. They’re going to foreclose.”
“Unless you can find a way to convince Warren Stanford that you’re good for the money,” Nell said comfortably. She started to rock again; the chair had a rhythmic squeak that was almost soothing.
As if it would be no problem, Camryn thought. But she shouldn’t blame Nell for thinking it was not an insurmountable obstacle; she herself had thought the same thing at first.
“Or unless someone else will vouch for you. Is that right?”
“Right,” Camryn said drearily. “But it isn’t all that easy, Nell. Not just anyone off the street is going to guarantee my loan—after all, it means they may end up paying it, if I don’t. The damnable thing about it is that I know I can do it, because I have been doing it.” She struck her fist against a cushion. “But nobody else seems to believe me. At least not enough to back me up.”
Nell rocked gently for half a minute. Then she said softly, “I do, Camryn. And I’ll guarantee your loan.”
CHAPTER TEN
Camryn’s first reaction was amusement. Nell McKenna obviously did not understand that Warren Stanford would not accept just anyone’s word when it came to guaranteeing a mortgage loan.
He will probably listen to her very patiently as she tells him just what a nice, reliable person I am, Camryn thought, and then usher her out of the door and laugh behind her back.
“Nell, I doubt Mr. Stanford will think your personal guarantee is adequate,” she said, doing her best to be gentle about it.
“Oh, he may not take my word for it,” Nell said placidly. “He doesn’t have a very high opinion of women—or hadn’t you noticed? But if I back up my promise with a large deposit in his silly bank... a deposit the same size as your mortgage, for instance... I think he’ll pay attention.” The rocking chair squeaked gently, rhythmically.
Camryn discovered that her mouth was hanging open. She shut it with difficulty and said weakly, “Do you mean you could actually do that?”
“I’ve made a little money from my hobby over the years.”
“That’s not a little money, Nell—it’s a fortune. And just what kind of hobby do you have?”
After a long moment, Nell said, “I play around in the stock market.” It was the same tone of voice Camryn would have expected if she had been admitting to a secret fondness for pornographic movies.
Camryn swallowed hard. “Nell, I never dreamed that you—”
“I’m sure you didn’t, dear.”
Nell’s tone was perfectly flat and calm, and suddenly cold fear washed over Camryn. Had there been a note of sarcasm in that matter-of-fact voice? Did Nell think this was all some sort of con game? Did she believe that Camryn had known about her money all along, and that she had cold-bloodedly planned how to win the old woman’s sympathy? And was she going along with it anyway, for reasons of her own?
Camryn cleared her throat and said harshly, “If I had even suspected, I’d never have told you about my mortgage.”
“That would have been a pity, don’t you think? Do be reasonable, child. I haven’t lived this many years without being able to recognize a scheme when I see one, and I know that you’re quite incapable of organizing such a thing.” She rocked tranquilly for a moment and added, before Camryn could make up her mind whether or not to be insulted, “Patrick could. But I’ve made it a point never to discuss money with him. I didn’t want him to start nagging me about putting mine in a safer place— such as his bank.”
“But if you dislike that bank, why would you even consider putting all that money in it?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter so much now. I don’t trust banks as a general rule—they tend to be more interested in the stockholder’s profits than in the depositors’. But then I’m not as concerned about the return on my investment as I used to be. Heaven knows I don’t need to worry any more about providing for my declining years. I’m already in them.”
Decline, Camryn thought. If she’s in a decline, then I’d hate to have been around when she was active; it would have been impossible to keep up with her. She shook her head in astonishment. “I still don’t understand. All the fuss about who was going to pay for your week here... I was right there, Nell, and I heard the argument.”
“There’s no need to spend my money if Patrick is willing to spend his,” Nell pointed out cheerfully.
“Not that I’m going to charge for your stay,” Camryn added hastily. “I wouldn’t think of it. But...”
“What kind of businesswoman are you? You’d better charge, or I’ll think twice about risking my money with you.” Nell added, with a sly grin, “Besides, it’s Patrick’s bill—remember? Not mine. Right up until you marry him, I’ll be a guest of the paying variety. After that...”
The floor seemed to rock a little under Camryn’s feet. Of course, she thought. That’s why she’s willing to bail me out. She thinks she’s helping Patrick as well.
She closed her eyes for a moment against the pain that had suddenly started to throb in her head, so strong that it was threatening to take the top of her skull off. There was only one thing to do. She could not take advantage of Nell like that; she had to tell her the truth, even if that put an end to this new hope.
“I’m not going to marry him,” she said quietly.
Nell raised her eyebrows. “Oh? May I ask why not?”
Camryn wanted to swear. What was she supposed to say? She decided that the less she told Nell, the better. “Mainly because I wasn’t asked. That wasn’t just a lovers’ quarrel tonight, Nell. It was—final.” She swallowed hard. “If that makes a difference about the mortgage, I understand, of course. I should have told you before.”
Nell looked astounded. “Should it make a difference?”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Of course not. I’m not concerned about having to make good on my promise, with or without Patrick. But in any case, I wouldn’t give up on him just yet, Camryn. And remember, my dear, one has to make allowances. A young man in love isn’t exactly the most rational creature on earth.”
Camryn didn’t pursue the discussion. Don’t give up on him, she thought wryly. As if I would still want him!
But surely it wasn’t necessary for her to destroy Nell’s illusions; time would do that soon enough. She had told the woman the truth, after all. If Nell wanted to convince herself that black was white, it certainly wasn’t Camryn’s problem.
*****
That night, in the middle of her bedtime ritual, Susan asked why Patrick hadn’t stayed to play with her.
Camryn could have kicked herself for not foreseeing the qu
estion and having an answer prepared. “He was busy tonight, honey. He really just came to see Nell, anyway.”
“Sherry told Nell you were fighting with him,” Susan observed. “Were you?”
Sherry should be taken out and shot, Camryn thought grimly. She tried to keep her voice calm. “We had a disagreement, yes. Does Freddy Bear want a kiss tonight?”
Susan held him up. “When is he coming to see us again?”
She cannot lie to her daughter, and yet, to say never would be needlessly cruel. “I don’t know, dear,” she said softly. “Off to sleep now.”
Susan snuggled obediently down into her soft blankets, and Camryn went downstairs to sit at her desk in the breakfast room, where not even Sherry would dare disturb her.
She’ll forget, she told herself. Given a little time, Susan will forget all about this charming man named Patrick.
But will you forget, Camryn? Will you some day be reminded of him, and say with a smile, Oh, yes, once upon a time I was in love with Patrick McKenna...
She tried to remind herself of the fury she had felt tonight. But she could only remember how much it had hurt when he said he had had a lucky escape.
That should answer the question, she told herself. He couldn’t really love her—not with the things he had said to her.
But she had said some things to him, too, the little voice of conscience reminded. Things that weren’t approved by any etiquette book. She shouldn’t hold him to a higher standard than she used for herself.
A young man in love isn’t exactly the most rational creature on earth.
Well, Camryn thought, she certainly agreed with Nell on portions of that statement. He wasn’t rational, that was for sure. He had asked her to do things that no woman in her right mind would do for any man. Give up her home—
But had he asked that, really? Or had she been jumping to conclusions? He had certainly spent the better part of his days lately trying to get her money so she could keep the house. Or had he just made it look as if he was trying?
She shook her head in frustrated confusion. She had been so angry, and now she could not remember.
It didn’t matter what he said about the house, anyway, she told herself. What he had said about Mitch was unforgivable enough, all by itself. How dare he imply that Mitch had been a reckless fool who only cared about himself? What gave Patrick the right to say that Mitch hadn’t really given a damn about her, or about Susan?
Stop it, she told herself. She was gaining nothing by going over and over this. She had already concluded that she, too, had a lucky escape when Patrick decided against proposing to her. Why drag it all out for an inquest? He didn’t matter. He certainly didn’t care about the things that were important to her.
Things like Susan? Was she saying that he didn’t care about Susan? He’d spent more time with her in a week than Mitch did in the entire six months he had a daughter.
She closed her eyes, and bits of memory attacked her from all sides: Patrick, carrying Susan up to bed; Patrick, teaching the little girl to dance; Patrick, not minding chocolate and grime and chalk smeared all over him in enthusiastic greeting.
“Mitch would have had a fit,” she said under her breath. “And he would have blamed me, because it was my job to keep her clean.”
It was like a dam breaking in her mind—the first tiny chink appearing, harmless-looking, releasing only a trickle of memory. But then the trickle became a flood.
Mitch had never changed a diaper in his life. “He was busy,” Camryn defended, automatically. But she could remember him pointedly handing Susan over to her to be changed. And he had hated it when she cried.
“She was only a baby when he died,” she muttered. “It would have changed as she developed more personality. Mitch loved kids—he wanted lots of them.”
Perfect kids, she thought. Ones that were always surgically clean and cute and smiling. Kids who would grow up to be quarterbacks and valedictorians and heart surgeons and campus beauty queens...
She pushed her chair back almost violently, as if by leaving the breakfast room she could break the pattern of her thoughts. But she found herself a few minutes later in the living room, in front of the big color portrait taken on their wedding day, as if she had been drawn there by a rope.
She stared at the pair of people in the portrait. Mitch, already the assured young doctor. Camryn, the sweet and pliable little wife. Both of them strangers to her, now.
For the first time, she forced herself to think about what would have happened if Mitch had lived. What would her life be like now? What would tonight—the average Monday evening in July—have held?
What she saw brought a chill to her heart. There would not be money problems in the Stone House, she was certain of that. There would not be paying guests upstairs in the main bedrooms. There might, or might not, be another child in the nursery; that would depend, she thought, on how Mitch had really felt about Susan – and she was no longer quite sure of that.
But nothing much else would be different. The house would be quiet, with Susan in bed. Mitch would almost certainly not be home; if he wasn’t at the hospital, he would be at the gym or playing cards with his buddies— or in Canada, hunting or fishing.
And what about Camryn? Would she be happy tonight, waiting for Mitch? Or would she be just one more bored housewife, looking for an alternative in food or alcohol—or any man who was handy? Could she have fitted forever into the mold that looked so inviting when she was nineteen years old and in love?
But Mitch had died, and of necessity Camryn had grown up.
Don’t turn him into a hero, Patrick had said. Stop giving the credit to Mitch for what you’ve done yourself.
She had been alone for more than three years, and she had changed. She had grown. Losing Mitch had made her stronger and more complete than she could ever have been as his wife.
Mitch would have hated me to be like this, she thought. He had wanted her to be Mrs. Mitchell Hastings. He had needed that, somehow, to prove he was worthwhile. He wanted that image, of a wife at home, waiting for him, depending on him.
And she would have hated him for it, after a while.
Instead, Mitch had died, and she had learned to stand on her own.
Now she felt lucky. Not grateful that he had died; she could never feel anything like that, for she had loved him. But she felt fortunate to have escaped from the trap she had built so contentedly, so easily, with her own hands.
It was a paradox, she concluded. Now that she didn’t need a man to give her support, dignity and identity, she had more to offer than she had ever had before. Because she didn’t have to depend on a man, she would be better able to share her life with him.
“The problem with that,” she told herself, “is that the man I want doesn’t want me.”
And she did still want Patrick, she conceded, finally. The real question was whether she had waited too late to admit that he had seen her more clearly than she could see herself.
*****
After all of the fuss, the worry, the plans and the work, it seemed hardly possible that a mortgage could be so easy to get after all.
Her application was approved within minutes after she and Nell sat down in Warren Stanford’s office the following afternoon. He was all that was charming and gracious as he renewed his acquaintance with Nell and made polite conversation about everything that had happened to both of them in the intervening years. It was apparent to Camryn that Nell was having trouble keeping her temper over what she obviously considered to be nosy questions, but on the whole she restrained her inclination to sarcasm and applied charm by the quart instead.
Camryn thought it would have been funny to watch Nell playing the clinging vine, if only the whole matter hadn’t been so important.
And, she admitted reluctantly, if only Patrick had been there to share the joke. But he wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
When they had first entered the bank, the sight of his darkened office had come as a relief to
Camryn. She needed to make her apologies, and that couldn’t be done here, in front of Nell and Warren Stanford.
Besides, she thought, it would be difficult enough when he found out what his grandmother was doing, and Camryn didn’t have the strength of mind to sit quietly and listen to the explanations and discussions. He might be angry, or annoyed, or piqued that he hadn’t known Nell had that sort of resources.
Or what would be even harder to bear, Camryn admitted to herself, was that he might shrug it off with relief that he didn’t have to be bothered with her financial problems any more.
As the interview went on, however, and no mention was made of Patrick, she began to get nervous. Just where was he, on a Tuesday afternoon?
Out with a client, she told herself. That’s all. Remember that he has more people to worry about than just you, Camryn.
Warren Stanford shuffled papers and pushed some across the desk for Camryn to sign. “Patrick will be very happy to know this is all settled,” he said. “Too bad he’s taking the afternoon off; he’d have liked to be in at the finish, I know.”
“I’ll have to talk with him about skipping work,” Nell muttered. “Now that I’m putting some money in this organization, I’ll expect him to stick around and keep an eye on it.”
Warren Stanford laughed. It was a social, meaningless sound. “That’s a good one. I’ll tell him. As a member of fact, he’s having tea with my Dianna this afternoon, at home.”
Camryn’s hand clenched so tightly on her pen that she was surprised it didn’t crack in her grip. That hadn’t taken him long, she thought. Last night he had been thinking of proposing to her; today he was having tea with Dianna.
She had a sudden vision of an endless row of tea tables, each groaning under the weight of hundreds of rich pastries and elegant desserts. Tea with Dianna —if it was anything like her picnic had been, it would certainly be an occasion.
Well, she told herself flatly, if that was what he wanted, then she was glad he’d found it out now. If he had proposed to Camryn, or married her, and then discovered that Dianna was what he wanted after all...
A Matter of Principal Page 15
