A Matter of Principal

by Leigh Michaels

  That would truly have broken my heart, she admitted quietly. To have been promised happiness and actually to have held it in her hand like a bright-colored helium balloon, and then to have it snatched away by a freak, uncaring breeze...

  “Dianna thinks he’s a very special young man, Nell,” Warren Stanford went on. “And so do I. They’ve had their quarrels, you know, but I’m confident they’ll get it all straightened out in the end.” He smiled and pushed his chair back. “Now I’ll just take all this paperwork out to the teller’s window and we’ll be in business.”

  The door closed behind him with a well-bred little whoosh, and Nell snorted. “That man was always a snake.”

  Camryn clasped her hands together against the soft fabric of her bronze-colored skirt. It kept them from shaking quite so much. “He has good reason to think that Patrick and Dianna...” She stopped. It hurt too much to couple their names like that. “It would help his career.”

  “Don’t you be wishy-washy,” Nell ordered. “Just because Warren Stanford thinks it’s important doesn’t mean it is. I wouldn’t worry. Tea with Dianna, indeed! Patrick has better sense than to think career advancement is worth that.”

  Camryn didn’t argue. There would have been no point to it, and there was no opportunity, for Warren Stanford was soon back, and then the interview was all over. He crushed Camryn’s hand in his big one, his diamond pinky ring cutting into her fingers. She bore the pain without comment because it helped to erase the vacant numbness in her heart. And she tried to feel truly happy that her house was safe.

  Surely she should feel glad about that. After all, that was the important thing — the only really important thing that was left.

  *****

  She sent Patrick a note the next day, thanking him for all the time and effort he had put forth. That was all. The rest of what she had to say couldn’t be put down on paper. It would have to wait until she saw him.

  But when days went by and he didn’t come—didn’t even stop to see Nell—she knew that it was truly over. So she went back to living as they had before, taking Susan to the park, developing new varieties of applesauce muffins, welcoming her guests and taking care of them, and trying—without much success—to keep herself too busy to think.

  When Kathleen McKenna called to announce that the painters were gone and the house was completely aired out, Camryn was sincerely sorry. She had grown attached to Nell in one short week, and the Stone House seemed to echo after the old woman was gone. She listened to the sounds it made for a couple of hours and then, unable to stand any more, took Susan to the library to spend the afternoon.

  When they came out, they sky had darkened and a summer thunderstorm was threatening. “So much for my good idea of a walk,” she muttered. “We may get wet, Susan.”

  But she had underestimated the storm; before they had gone a block, the first huge drops of rain were splattering on the path. She hesitated for an instant in front of the Lakemont National Bank.

  Don’t be a fool, she thought. They were going to be drenched if they didn’t get inside. Besides, she’d have to come back here someday; she had checks in her handbag that should be deposited. Why not take care of it today? Then Patrick... then no one could question why she was there.

  She pulled Susan inside and fumbled in her bag for the week’s checks. The teller made the usual comments about the weather and smiled as she handed back the receipt and a lollipop for Susan. Camryn thanked her and turned towards the door. “We’ll wait out in the entrance till the storm’s over, Susan,” she began, before she realized that the child wasn’t beside her any more.

  And of course there was only one place that Susan would have gone. Camryn turned towards the executive wing. There might still be time to catch her.

  She arrived in the doorway of Patrick’s office just in time to see Susan climbing up on his knee to give him a hug. At least she was clean, for a change, Camryn thought. Wet, but clean.

  And obviously confident of her welcome. I wish I were as certain of what would happen if I were to walk over there and put my arms around him...

  The pain caused by the mere thought made her voice a little stiff. “I’ll take her out of your way,” she said. “Susan doesn’t understand business, I’m afraid.”

  Patrick turned his chair around from the window. “She’s not interrupting anything. Or are you anxious to get her away from my bad influence?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then it’s for yourself that you’re avoiding me?”

  It was like a slap of cold water in her face. “From my point of view, it looks as if you’re the one doing the avoiding. You didn’t even stop to see your grandmother.”

  “You expected me to?”

  Camryn’s gaze dropped to the carpet as she remembered that last quarrel. “No, I suppose I didn’t. Patrick...”

  “Besides, it sounds as if she didn’t miss me in the least. Nell gave me quite a glowing review of her stay. That’s a bit unusual, for her. Of course, since she has decided to back the place—”

  “So that’s what’s making you irritable. I assure you, Patrick, I didn’t ask her for the help.” The silence drew out into a fragile eon of time.

  Camryn thought, What’s the use of trying to explain, to apologize? “Come along, Susan.”

  Susan didn’t move from her comfortable perch. “It’s still raining,” she said wisely. “We’ll get wet.” She reached for the gold pen from Patrick’s desk set and started to write her name on his blotter.

  “You’re walking?”

  She glanced ruefully at the dark sky outside the window. “Well, it didn’t look like rain when we started out.”

  “I’ll take you home.” He set Susan off his lap and stood up. “Don’t argue, Camryn. It isn’t going to let up any time soon, and I was going to come by anyway and pay Nell’s bill. That’s what she called me about—to tell me that she wasn’t letting me off the hook for her expenses.”

  “There’s no bill.”

  “Is that any way to run a business?”

  “That’s exactly what she said. Nevertheless, I think I owe you both something—you for all your efforts...”

  “I know how appreciative you are. I got your note.” It was cool, ironic.

  “And Nell for saving the day.”

  “Congratulations, by the way.” He reached for an umbrella from behind the office door. “I wondered if she wouldn’t do that.”

  Camryn stopped dead in the middle of the room. “What do you mean?”

  “I told you to be patient, Camryn, and not to rush into anything—that there was time.”

  “You knew that she had money?”

  “I suspected it. And no, I wasn’t snooping through her private files, just sorting out her mail. Most elderly people on pensions don’t get letters from trust companies in New York and cable television franchises in Colorado and petroleum companies in Texas, all in the same day. Nell does.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You manipulated me, and Nell.”

  “No. I just dumped the chemicals together in the test tube and waited to see what would happen. I couldn’t honestly send you to another bank, because the odds were no better for you there. And I couldn’t ethically suggest that you ask Nell for help. But I could provide the opportunity. The rest was up to the two of you.” He sounded as if it didn’t matter to him how it had turned out.

  But he had made it possible for her to keep her house, Camryn thought. Then he really hadn’t meant to force her to give it up, after all.

  In the lobby they ran into Warren Stanford, who looked Camryn over speculatively and then asked Patrick, “Shall I tell Dianna you’ll stop by later? Now that she’s feeling better, she’d like to see you, I know.”

  Patrick didn’t miss a step. “I don’t think so, Warren.”

  So Dianna had been ill, Camryn thought.

  By the time they reached the Stone House, the wind had picked up, and the rain was blowing in sheets.

  Camryn ha
d left her own car parked under the port-cochere, so they had to run from the driveway to the front porch, and even with the umbrella, they all got thoroughly wet.

  Patrick shook out the umbrella and looked doubtfully back across the drive. Susan was giggling and tugging at his hand. Camryn put her key in the lock and thought, I can’t deal with a tantrum just now, and if he leaves she’ll throw a king-sized one.

  Oh, be honest, she told herself crossly. It wasn’t Susan she was worried about, not really. Patrick was going to leave, and she was the one who didn’t want to let him go.

  “Come in and have some hot chocolate and wait out the storm,” she said. “It has to stop sometime.”

  He hesitated, and for an instant Camryn felt as if the world itself hung in the balance. Then Susan said, “Read me a story,” and he smiled at her.

  He would have rather braved the rain, if it had been only me, Camryn thought wearily as she waited for the hot chocolate to come almost to a boil. But for Susan...

  The solarium was quiet, except for the rhythm of the rain striking the windows, when she carried in the three big mugs, each topped with whipped cream and fragrant with cinnamon. She was startled by the silence until she saw Susan sound asleep on the couch, curled up under a blanket with her thumb in her mouth.

  Patrick was standing by the window, arms folded across his chest, watching the storm. He had taken his jacket off, and his sleeves were rolled to the elbow. He turned at the click of the tray against the glass table and came quickly across the room. “She only lasted through a story and a half,” he said. “I just straightened her out and covered her.”

  She handed him a mug. “She gets so tired that when she slows down for anything, a nap attacks her.” She picked up his tie from the back of a chair; the silk was rain-spotted. “Your cleaning bills must have gone through the roof since you met us.”

  He smiled just a little, but the warmth didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s all right, Camryn. You don’t have to try so hard. I think it would be better if I just left.” He set his mug back on the tray.

  She took a sip, and didn’t care that the liquid scalded her tongue; at least that was a good excuse for the tears that stung her eyes. “Susan won’t be very happy if you aren’t here when she wakes up.”

  “The world doesn’t revolve around Susan.” It was almost harsh. He reached for his tie and started to knot it briskly.

  “Are you going to see Dianna after all?” That, she thought, must be the dumbest question I’ve ever asked. You’ve got no dignity left, Camryn Hastings.

  “Does it matter?”

  And why should she be worried about dignity? It hadn’t gotten her anywhere. Maybe it was time to try honesty instead.

  “Yes, it matters.” It was only a whisper, but his hands stopped in mid-motion. She swallowed hard, but something in his eyes forced her on. “It matters a great deal, Patrick.”

  He looked down at her for a long moment, and then very deliberately he took the cup from her hand and set it aside and pulled her almost roughly into his arms. There was desperation in his kiss and raw hunger in the way she responded to him, as if they would never again be so close, never again share this marvelous reality.

  Then he let her go. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, and finished knotting his tie with hands that trembled a little.

  Camryn felt as cold as if she had been snatched up in the middle of a dream and dumped into ice water. “Why not?” she said crisply. “Because I might get the wrong ideas?”

  “I can’t think how you could, Camryn. I made myself very plain, and I’m not going to apologize for it.” He half-turned to face her, and his voice was deliberate. “Even though I would give anything to be able to say I didn’t mean a word of it, I can’t. It’s too important to me.”

  “What you said about Mitch?” she whispered.

  “I’m not backing down from that, Camryn. No man can compete with a saint, and I’m not going to try.”

  Her throat was tight. “I’m not asking you to,” she said. “Patrick, you were right. I have been giving Mitch credit for too many things, and remembering only what I wanted to.”

  The uncertainty in his face hurt her. “That’s easy enough to say now,” he said bitterly. “Now that his memorial is safe.” He flung out a hand in a gesture that encompassed the room, and everything beyond.

  “The house?” she whispered. “Is that what you think? That I’m so determined to keep it because it stands for Mitch?”

  The Stone House isn’t big enough for you and me and Mitch, he had said.

  “If you really hate the house...” she began uncertainly, and stopped. What could she offer him—a promise to sell it? But that would mean giving up her business, and her independence.

  “It’s not the house. It’s just what it stands for.”

  “But it doesn’t, Patrick. It was never really Mitch’s house. He wanted a new one in the suburbs. I wanted lots of space and good, old construction. He finally said it was up to me—I was the one who would spend all my time here.”

  “Camryn.” He sounded as if he’d been hit squarely in the solar plexus.

  She went on, unhearing. “He was right. He was home a couple of nights a week—one day, maybe. Sometimes not even that. I told myself that it was necessary, and that he was helping people. I tried not to mind. I would have exploded eventually, I suppose, but he died instead, and so I just kept hiding from the truth until you forced me to take a good look at myself.”

  He said, uncomfortably, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t stop me. I have to do this. I’ve held it in too long.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t want him to go on that last trip. I hoped he’d stay at home, with Susan and me. We’d scarcely seen him in weeks, and she was growing so fast. He didn’t even know she was starting to pull herself up to the furniture. He never knew. After he died, I guess I just wanted to prove that I could hold things together—that my love for him hadn’t been in vain.”

  “Camryn... sweetheart...”

  “I couldn’t keep on being what he wanted, Patrick. But I can’t wipe him out of my memory completely. Whether you like it or not, he was a part of my life. He wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t a villain, either.”

  There was a long silence, and then he said, very quietly, “I know. And I’m not asking you to forget about him altogether.”

  She turned uncertainly. “You’re not?”

  He shook his head. “No—because that’s part of you, part of the woman I love. Just remember him as he really was, that’s all I ask.” He held out his arms, and she found herself huddling against him as if she had been freezing.

  “Because,” he went on softly, “I’m morally certain that some time in the next fifty years I’m going to fall off the pedestal you’ve put me on.”

  She shook her head. “You’re not on a pedestal. I thought from the first minute I met you that you were irritating, annoying, bossy…”

  “See why I can’t compete with a saint?” His smile had an ironic twist.

  “You didn’t like me much that day, either.” But her voice was muffled against his shoulder. This, she thought, is where I will always belong.

  Patrick shook his head. “No, I didn’t. But it’s not like me to judge people so quickly. It was only later I realized it wasn’t you I disliked at all—it was that damned wedding ring you were wearing like armor.” His hands cupped her face and turned it up to his. “Will you wear mine instead? Will you marry me?”

  “What about the Stone House?”

  “Run it if you like, give it up if you like. I wasn’t trying to order you around by asking you to give up the restaurant; I was just trying to make sure there was time for me.” His voice was soft. “My idea of a marriage is a partnership, Camryn —a bargain between equals. There isn’t room in that for telling each other what to do, just for sharing hopes and dreams and problems.”

  She hesitated. “And memories? What about the memories we don’t share?”

&n
bsp; “As long as we face them honestly, we’ll be stronger for them. You’ll have to be patient with me. I’m jealous of Mitch, and of all the things you shared with him. But I’m not afraid of him anymore.”

  There was no denying the husky honesty in his voice. Tears stung her eyes. Afraid of Mitch? Yes, she could see that now. And she could understand why he had felt that way.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  It was a much different sort of kiss, tender and satisfying and yet with the promise of all the world to come.

  A long time later, Camryn said, still just a bit breathless, “And you don’t have to be jealous of Mitch—that’s all past. Just as Dianna is.”

  “Who?” She was sitting on his lap by then, and he was tracing her profile with kisses. He sounded abstracted.

  “You heard me. You had tea with her last week, remember? You must have had some reason to put yourself through that ordeal.”

  He laughed. “It was a very special occasion. Remember that night at the picnic when she and her friend wandered off into the bushes? Dianna spent the next week lying in a darkened room, nursing a full-blown case of poison ivy. Warren asked me to drop by to cheer her up, but she threw me out when I asked how she’d managed to get it in so many interesting places.”

  Camryn gave a little gurgle of laughter.

  “I think she’s finally given up the idea of wanting to marry me. I’m just too hopelessly middle class, I guess,” he murmured. “I’d much rather sit on a park bench and eat cheeseburgers with you than have snails at the Ritz with Dianna.” He put his cheek down against her hair. “And I’d rather admire chalk drawings on my own front path than works of art at the Louvre, too. Which reminds me—about Susan…”

  “Thank heaven for Susan. If it hadn’t been for her, you’d have been gone today.”

  He shook his head. “Not permanently. I was going to see you and try again, even if I had to batter the front door in. I didn’t plan to use Susan, either; it wouldn’t have been fair to her.” He sighed. “Camryn, I swear I’m not doing this to try to wipe Mitch out of your life and Susan’s, but would you think about letting me adopt her? I don’t want her to be the odd child, you see—the one with the different name. I want to really be her father.”