Home for Love (13 page)

Max thought joining Far Horizon Enterprises was a great idea. A glob of periwinkle-blue paint flew off his brush as he waved it about in the corner bedroom upstairs.

"This Reid guy knows what he's talking about. We'd be making a lot of money. Lots of it."

"Since when are you so interested in money?" Kate asked, her eyebrows drawing together.

"I could save up more for college in the fall," he explained. "So when I start classes I can afford to cut my work hours down."

"Max, you wouldn't really be working for
me
anymore," Kate said. "You'd be an employee of Far Horizon's and they might not be so flexible about your schedule."

He pushed up the brim of his baseball cap.

"Maybe I'll work my way up in the company," he said. "Then I wouldn't have to go to college at all."

"Max!" Paula protested, raising her paintbrush in a menacing gesture. "Don't you even think about it. Of course you're going to college."

Kate turned to Paula, glad to have some support. But she was in for an unpleasant shock. Paula set down her brush and hooked a shining strand of hair behind her ear.

"This could be the answer to all our problems, Kate," she said seriously. "I can't tell you how worried I've been about our finances. It's not just Mrs. Cleeve, either. We're suffering a general trend toward chaos. We need to control it and at the same time inject some growth into the business."

"You sound like you just walked out of a pep rally for accountants," Kate complained. "I thought you liked being independent. Setting your own schedule, taking off when you needed the time…"

"Those are all the things
you
like, Kate," Paula said apologetically. Her voice started traveling up and down the scale the way it did when she was nervous. "I need some order in my life, and knowing when I'll get my next paycheck. It's nothing personal. Really, it isn't! I'm sorry." Paula's cheeks had turned pink; she always colored when she was agitated.

Kate looked at her ruefully. "Don't apologize, Paula. You certainly aren't asking for very much."

"You're not angry, are you?" Paula asked, still anxious.

"No, of course I'm not. I'm just going to have to do a lot more thinking about Far Horizon, that's all. I'm glad you both told me how you felt." Kate went downstairs to the library. She stood at the mantelpiece, lining up a new row of M&Ms in front of the antique sailing ship. She ate the orange ones this time, slowly and thoughtfully. It seemed that life was more complicated than she wanted to believe. All along she'd been living her own dream, thinking that it was right for Paula and Max, too. That had been selfish, especially when the two of them were so loyal to Melrose Designs. They had sacrificed a lot to keep the business going; how could she deny them the opportunities they would find at Far Horizon?

At the same time, how could she deny herself? Yes, it might be a relief to have a regular paycheck, to know she could afford another car when her poor Bug wheezed its last. But Kate wondered how well she would survive in a place like Far Horizon. She was afraid that she might wither and die there, like a plant uprooted from a forest to a desert.

She could see no answers to her questions right now. All she could do was turn to the old house for solace and comfort. She placed a hand on the lovely onyx marble of the mantelpiece, pressing against the smooth, cool surface until the confusion of her thoughts began to quiet down. Then she slipped off her blazer and rolled up her sleeves. Ignoring the fact that she was wearing her best skirt, she went to work stripping the rest of the wainscoting. Somehow she would figure out what to do about Far Horizon.

Kate's first strategy was simple: she stalled. The next morning Steven called her twice while she was working at his house, pushing her to set a time for the second meeting with Gloria. She changed the subject repeatedly, she argued with him—and finally she just hung up on him. Both times. She was irked when he showed up in person an hour or so after their last confrontation.

He was in a good mood, as if he enjoyed having a receiver slammed down in his ear. Dropping his jacket on the newel post, he took Kate into his arms. It was a dangerous thing to do, since she was holding a hammer and a packet of nails and wasn't feeling very friendly toward him. But he waltzed her through the hallway with expert ease, humming a song from a Fred Astaire movie. He was a marvelous dancer, and his arms were strong and warm. Kate leaned against him, quite breathless by the time they ended up back at the newel post. He was still humming in her ear, sending delicious vibrations all through her. Then he kissed the pulse at her temple and stepped back. She almost dropped the hammer on her toe.

"Isn't this better than arguing?" he asked.

"Yes. Definitely." But she narrowed her eyes at him with suspicion. "You're changing your tactics too fast," she declared. "You're trying to soften me up, aren't you?"

"I wanted to see you," he said. "Spur of the moment—just like that. I almost gave Mrs. Adler a fit of apoplexy when I walked out of my office and told her to cancel my appointments for the rest of the day. I can't believe I did that myself." He was beginning to look disgruntled, like a man waking from dream to reality. But Kate felt buoyant, as if he'd whirled her around the floor again. He had disrupted his entire schedule—all for her.

"Well, I was just tacking in some baseboards," she said happily. "The carpenters finished up yesterday, but they forgot a few details—not that I blame them. The one named Jerry has been quite distracted by Paula. She finally said she'd go to the movies with him…" Kate was babbling; she never knew how Steven was going to affect her. But he didn't seem to be listening. He looked at the empty paint cans scattered about, the box full of doorknobs that had been pushed into a corner, the dust rags draped over the stair rail.

"My life is like this house," he muttered. "Everything out of place. Are you ever going to finish one room? Just one room, that's all I ask."

"Don't worry," she told him. "Everything's in a state of flux right now. Eventually it will all settle in."

"Good Lord, you make my house sound like a cosmic whirlpool. Maybe the whole damn thing will be sucked into outer space."

Kate tried to distract Steven. She pointed to a corner that was very neat and tidy at the moment. "Don't you think you should have a grandfather clock over there?" she asked.

Steven gave her suggestion some thought.

"That might not be so bad," he conceded. "Not bad at all." He turned back to Kate. "We'll go buy a clock right now—what do you say? A grandfather clock that chimes every fifteen minutes until you want to stuff a sock in it. Can't have a house without one of those."

This was much more than she'd hoped for. She stared at him. "Are you serious? That's really what you want to do?"

"I have a limited capacity for this kind of thing," he said. "Don't press your luck by making me think about it too much."

"Don't think about it at all, then!" She ran upstairs to tell Paula she was leaving, then hurried out to join Steven at the Mercedes. He opened the car door for her and gratefully she sank into the luxurious seat.

"I know just where to go," she said, giving him directions. She glanced at him as he drove. "Listen, I'm sorry I yelled at you on the phone."

"Are you sorry you called me an interfering moose?" he asked gravely. "I really am trying to come up with a good deal for you, Kate. I'm negotiating with Gloria so that she'll give you all the freedom you need."

Kate sighed. He was changing his tactics on purpose, she was sure of it.

"I already told you that Max and Paula are interested," she said. "But can you guarantee that they'd both still be part of Melrose Designs, just as they are now? And there's something even more important. They should have promotion opportunities at Far Horizon."

"Gloria will be fair about that," Steven answered. "You don't need to worry. Far Horizon rewards hard work and initiative."

It all sounded so logical, so suitable. And yet Kate's instincts still warned her to run from Far Horizon as fast as she could. Gloria Nestor was not offering any of this out of the kindness of her heart.

By now they'd driven past Market Street to a shabby, down-at-the-heels area where tourists seldom ventured. At Kate's direction, Steven pulled up at a dingy little store on a side street.

"I thought we were going to a department store or something like that," he protested.

"A department store?" Kate echoed in disbelief.

"How else do you buy furniture? You need a clock, you go to the clock department. You buy the damn clock."

"Good grief, you don't shop for furniture the way you do for…for shoes. You have to know how to browse."

"I don't browse," Steven said. "We're going to a department store."

Kate swung out of the Mercedes. "Relax! You're going to enjoy this." Before he could say anything more she led him into the shop. It was a jumble of dusty paintings, murky wood carvings, old chests and bookcases, tarnished jewelry heaped in cracked bowls.

"What the devil?" Steven grumbled, just as a tall, skinny old man materialized from the clutter.

"My dear Kate," he murmured in a voice that was papery thin. "I haven't seen you in a long time. Where have you been hiding yourself?"

"Oh, Mr. Addison, I've been working on the most marvelous house. You'd love it. It's up on McClary Hill."

"Ah, yes, interesting area. Fascinating history. Fascinating." Mr. Addison smoothed a few wisps of hair across the bald spot on top of his head. His milky-blue eyes took on a faraway expression. "McClary Hill used to be a stepping stone for people struggling their way up the social ladder," he said. "They committed a great deal of architectural excess, even by San Francisco standards. They built their mistakes and then abandoned them for better homes."

Kate shook her head emphatically. "The house I'm decorating up there—it wasn't treated like that. I
know
it wasn't. I just have this feeling about it. There must have been a family who lived there for years and years and loved it. I know for a fact that someone named Eliza R. Hobbes used to live there. I'm dying to find out more about her. Have you ever heard that name, Mr. Addison?"

He smoothed his wisps of hair in the other direction. "No…no, can't say I have. That's the trouble with history, you know. So many names, so many faces escape us. So many lives…" He sighed nostalgically.

"It's not the famous people who intrigue me," Kate said. "It's all the other people who lived so richly and deeply, yet we don't know anything about them."

Steven cleared his throat. "I thought we were shopping for a grandfather clock," he remarked.

"That's exactly what we're doing," Kate said. "Mr. Addison, this is Steven Reid, my client. And this is Mr. Addison, who can tell you anything and everything you want to know about clocks."

"I believe I have a few in the back somewhere," Mr. Addison said, gesturing vaguely. "A few months ago I spotted a cuckoo clock behind one of the bookshelves, but I haven't seen it lately."

Steven was tensing like a spring wound too tightly, and Kate put a hand on his arm. "I hate to tell you this," she said. "We're going to…browse. Trust me and see what happens."

Steven groaned, but followed her further into the shop. It was long and narrow, with more and more treasures piling up toward the back. Steven poked his foot at a rolled-up Persian carpet and fought his way around a china cabinet.

"How can you find what you're looking for?" he hissed at Kate. "There are probably a few forgotten customers moldering back here."

"Just be ready for anything," Kate instructed him as she went to inspect a table carved out of tulipwood.

Kate poked and sifted and scrounged through the entire shop. Now and then she'd catch a glimpse of Steven, mysterious rolls of parchment under his arm or his tie flung back over his shoulder as he rummaged through boxes. He reappeared at the front of the shop while Kate was consulting with Mr. Addison over the counter. She hadn't stumbled upon a grandfather clock, but contented herself with other finds.

"Let's see… We're taking the writing desk," she said. "And the walnut bureau. Oh, and that pile of sheet music."

"Wait a minute!" Steven protested. "What do we need that for?"

"Why, we just do, Steven," Kate said patiently. "There are some wonderful old songs in there. Now, Mr. Addison, I think that's all. We'll carry a few things with us, but Paula and Max will be around with the van tomorrow—"

"The armchairs," Steven muttered. Kate turned to him.

"What?"

"The armchairs over there. We're taking those. And that set of candlesticks."

Kate raised her eyebrows at the hideous Victorian candelabra, but thought better of arguing with him. It wasn't difficult to prod Steven to the next little shop she had in mind… and the next one after that. The possibility of a grandfather clock beckoned them on.

Kate and Steven scrounged and explored together. Right in the middle of a heated discussion over the usefulness of a battered washboard, Kate realized how happy she was. Simply and purely happy. She was sharing her world with Steven. And she wanted to share so much more of it with him—regardless of the tortured expression on his face.

Eventually he took off his tie and left his jacket tossed carelessly in the back seat of the car. The front of his expensive shirt grew dusty from rummaging among tables and cabinets and bookshelves.

"That mirror. Those rugs," he said. Kate began to notice a glazed look in his eyes.

"Perhaps we shouldn't take
all
the rugs," she hinted.

"All of them," he said grimly.

"Well, Paula and Max won't mind making a few extra trips," Kate remarked. "They'll stop for ice cream or pizza every few hours. Max is six feet tall and still growing—he needs lots of nourishment to load furniture. Paula always has to go on a diet after she's spent a few days working with him."

Steven didn't answer. There was an alarming glitter in his eyes now as he advanced on a shelf of flowerpots. Kate decided it was time to take action.