Home for Love (17 page)

"Are you still there, Kate?" Steven asked softly.

She cleared her throat. "Yes, I'm here. But I'm not ready for any more pressure from you! Can't you understand that?"

"Actually that's something else I want to talk to you about." He spoke slowly, as if grudging his words.

"Kate, you've lived up to our deal. In all fairness I can't use it as leverage against you anymore. I gave you the money you needed; you gave Far Horizon a trial. We're even as far as that goes."

"Well, I'm certainly glad to have that off my back," Kate said fervently. This was indeed cause for celebration. She fished a carton of banana yogurt from one of her grocery bags, peeled off the lid and sampled a spoonful. "Steven, you're sounding almost like a reasonable man. Now at least you realize that this is my decision. Not yours, not Gloria's. Just mine."

"It doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying to convince you," he said, sounding cantankerous. "I still think Far Horizon is a big break for you, and I'll do everything I can to make you see that."

Kate licked her spoon. "I'm going to consider Far Horizon very carefully," she answered. "But I'm not going to make a decision right away."

"You can't delay too long, Kate. You won't have this opportunity forever."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said patiently. "Goodbye now."

"Don't forget—I'm picking you up at seven." This time he hung up first, and in quite an abrupt manner. Kate stirred her yogurt and ate it absently. From now on she was going to be much more frugal with money; anything was better than giving Steven financial power over her. She was free of it now, and she meant to remain free.

But that didn't change the fact that she needed to make a decision about Far Horizon. She wanted it to be an intelligent and logical one, but her feelings for Steven kept intruding and confusing her. Worst of all, she wasn't even sure what those feelings were. Love, desire, need?

Steven had made life even more complicated by arranging that dinner tonight with her mother. He seemed determined to go through with it, however; if he was going to be so stubborn about it, he might as well suffer the consequences.

Hurriedly Kate put away her groceries, cramming boxes and cans into the cupboard and shoving everything else haphazardly into the fridge. Next she drew herself a bath in her big, old-fashioned claw-footed tub. This was always a good therapy technique. Sometime later she emerged from the tub with flushed skin and pruny toes, slightly more resigned to the experience ahead.

Wrapped in a flannel robe, she attacked her closet for something to wear. What about her navy-blue slacks? No, they weren't right at all. She could always count on her turquoise dress, of course, but Steven had already seen her in it…

Kate stopped herself. What was she trying to do, sweep Steven off his feet? Ridiculous! She liked to get as much use as possible out of her clothes, regardless of male opinion. Nevertheless she rejected the turquoise dress and slipped it back on the hanger, pushing it to the far side of the closet.

At last Kate pulled out a dress she'd bought in a fit of extravagance but had never worn. It was a rich ivory, with narrow straps at the shoulders and a gored skirt that flared out in just the right way. Kate slipped into it. She lifted back one side of her hair with a tortoiseshell comb and allowed the rest to fall loose. Just a touch of lip gloss now, and a little mascara. Kate surveyed herself in the mirror. It would have to do.

Steven arrived promptly at seven, his arms full of violets for Kate. Laughing with delight, she gathered them into her arms.

"Oh, thank you, Steven. You must have bought out an entire shop," she exclaimed.

"It was a man, standing on a corner with a wooden tub full of violets." He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "They made me think of you, spilling out all over everything and looking beautiful."

Kate was touched by his words, and lowered her cheek to the violets. Then she busied herself finding vases for them, calling upon some empty jars, as well. She observed her arrangements with satisfaction; violets in old jam jars were very pleasing to the eye.

Steven came over to her.

"Now you make me think of seashells," he murmured. He lifted his hands to her bare shoulders, his skin against hers. Without thought or question she raised her face. His mouth captured hers with sweetness, enticing her response. She clung to him, parting her lips to his long and tender kiss. When finally they broke apart, Steven's eyes had darkened to a smoky gray.

"If we keep on like this, we'll never make it to your mother's," he said wryly. "She happens to be expecting us."

Kate nodded. She moved unsteadily to the hall closet and began hunting for her shawl. Meanwhile Steven surveyed her apartment.

"This place is suffering a personality crisis," he pronounced.

Kate poked her head around the door of the closet. "What do you mean?"

"Look over there. You have a desk made out of plastic cubes, some dead branches sticking out of a silver vase and a painting that can only be called minimalist art."

"Well—"

"On the other hand, over here you have two antique bookshelves and a sampler that says, Keep Your Candle Bright. Hmm. I kind of like that."

"I've gone through some different stages," Kate defended herself. "I'm still trying to, um, synthesize everything."

Steven put his hands into his pockets and wandered around the living room.

"You know, Kate, you were right that day when you told me I've been looking for a home without really knowing it. For years I've been caught up in my career, neglecting everything else. All the women I've known… they've been like that, too. You're different—you know how to savor life. But you don't have a real home, either. You're just as bad as I am."

"That's not true!" she said indignantly. "I've lived here for years. I've established myself—"

"Looks like you haven't even unpacked yet." He picked up a calendar that was two years old.

"I'm saving that for a reason," Kate said, taking it from him and stuffing it into her carved wooden magazine rack from Iceland. She rummaged in the closet again. All right, she didn't have much time to spend decorating her own apartment; all her efforts were expended on other people's houses. But Steven was wrong. She already
had
found a home—the house on McClary Hill. Unfortunately, she didn't really belong there; her stewardship of the place was only temporary. Still, there was every chance that Steven wouldn't be staying in San Francisco; he might take that position in Los Angeles. Then maybe she could find a way to buy the house—or rent it from him. But the thought of his not being in San Francisco was a bleak one.

She reached out and fumbled with windbreakers and sweaters, at last finding her shawl tucked among them. Woven in a soft shade of fawn, it was a perfect match for the strappy, high-heeled sandals she was wearing. Steven helped drape the shawl over her shoulders, then smiled down at her. They went out the door together.

Kate wasn't used to wearing such frivolous shoes, and had to use Steven's assistance as she navigated the two flights of stairs, which were very narrow and very steep.

"These steps were made for small, nimble Victorian gentlemen," Steven observed. "I wonder how Victorian ladies climbed them, having to contend with all those long skirts and bustles."

Kate welcomed his light tone. "Thank goodness times have changed," she said, then almost twisted her ankle. She looked down at the spindly heels of her sandals. "Now we women torture ourselves strictly by choice. That's progress," she concluded philosophically.

"You have pretty feet, Kate. I think they'd look good even in combat boots." Steven held on to her until he had deposited her safely in the Mercedes.

They arrived at Lorna Melrose's door, and she flung it open wide to receive them. She was wearing a new housecoat bright with gigantic cabbage roses, and her usual slippers had been exchanged for shoes that squeaked. She and the kittens crowded into the doorway to greet their dinner guests.

"Katie, Mr. Reid! How wonderful that you could come."

"Please call me Steven."

She gave him a broad smile. "Come along, then. The stew is almost ready." She bustled and squeaked down the hall. Kate followed, nudging at a ball of yarn that was unraveling all over the floor. A kitten pounced on the yarn before a path could be cleared for Steven, but he merely scooped the kitten up. Two paws dangled awkwardly from his hand and immediately a small engine began to purr.

Lorna waved Kate and Steven into chairs by the kitchen table. "No, no, Katie, you're to sit there and relax. I don't need any help. Everything will be ready before you know it."

Kate sat down and smoothed out her dress, glancing at Steven. His subdued but expensive clothes seemed more suited to dining aboard a corporate jet or a yacht. That tweed jacket certainly hadn't been made for a fusty little kitchen with cracked linoleum and faded curtains. But Steven leaned back comfortably in his rickety chair, the kitten perched on his knee. It hadn't stopped purring.

"Tell me about yourself, Steven," Lorna Melrose said as she peered deep into the battered, enormous old pot on the stove. She slammed the lid back on as if to prevent something from escaping. "Tell me about your home in Vermont, your family. What do your parents do? How many brothers and sisters do you have? Are you the youngest, the oldest, or in the middle somewhere?"

"Well, let's see…" Steven answered each question in order, not showing even the slightest annoyance at this interrogation.

Kate frowned down at the nicked surface of the table. She had to jump back as bowls and plates began clattering onto it. A pewter mug went spinning past her;

Steven caught it neatly before it could sail off the table. Kate stood up and took charge of the silverware before it could become a danger to anyone. Lorna squeaked about happily.

"There! You see, we're all ready. Have a biscuit, Steven. Have two. Dear me, I thought I went for butter yesterday…"

"I'll find it, Mother." Kate poked gingerly in the refrigerator. She saw two or three containers that it would be safer not to investigate. And what was that? she wondered at the oddest shape bulging in foil. Kate withdrew her fingers hastily. She found the plastic butter keeper at the very back of the fridge. The butter inside it
looked
fresh. She placed it on the table and watched Steven have a go at her mother's heavy, filling biscuits.

The stew was also heavy and filling. Kate prodded at the chunks of potato and carrot with her spoon while Steven and Lorna talked.

"Youngest but one, are you?" Lorna said. "That's a tricky position to be in. Now, if you're the oldest, your parents make a fuss about every little thing you do, like you were the first baby ever born. If you're the youngest, they take too many things for granted. They've seen it all before. And if you're next to the youngest, it's almost as bad. It means your parents were winding down when they had you but couldn't exactly decide when to quit."

Steven chuckled. "I believe you've pegged it, Mrs. Melrose—"

"Call me Lorna."

"Lorna. But the youngest in my family is a girl. My parents didn't take that for granted, after five boys."

"It's good you have a sister. Boys need sisters. Don't you think so, Katie?"

Kate started. "Oh…yes, sisters. Absolutely." She stared down at the stew that had been served at this table for as long as she could remember, usually on Saturday nights.

"Kate tells me you're quite an artist," Steven said.

"Goodness. Well, Katie has great faith in me." Lorna dished Steven up another bowl of stew and sent it sailing over to him. Fortunately he had very good reflexes, or it would have landed in his lap. "I always wanted to be a painter, you know. I just never had the time. Husbands require even more attention than children, if you're really going to do things right. And now I have all these grandchildren…"

Kate watched as Steven nodded sympathetically. She set down her spoon and pushed her bowl away. Out came the blueberry pie now, her mother's other dessert besides custard. The crust was thick and substantial. Kate knew exactly how the pie would taste even before she took a bite. Delicious but just a little too sweet. Heavy whipped cream on top that wasn't sweet enough.

Steven didn't bat an eyelid when one of the kittens finally made its move, springing from the counter onto the table. Lorna waved her arms, nearly swatting Steven.

"Shoo!—shoo! Where are your manners? Down with you!"

Kate snatched the kitten and leaned down to tuck it between her feet so it couldn't get away.

"Have another piece of pie, Steven," Lorna said. "Go ahead. There's plenty!"

By now even Steven was beginning to flag. "Thanks, but I don't really think I can fit it in—"

"Of course you can. Just a small piece." She sent a slab of pie across the table at him. He dug in manfully.

The kitten was wriggling its way out from Kate's feet. Meanwhile another one was stalking across the counter.

"Why don't we move into the living room?" Kate suggested.

"That's a good idea, Katie." Lorna's face was rosy and happy under her flyaway mop of hair. "We'll drink some peppermint tea. Have you ever tried it, Steven?"

"Yes, I have." He threw Kate an acid expression. She glanced away.

"Maybe Steven would rather have coffee," she told her mother.

"No, no—peppermint tea is fine," he said.

The living room had been shut up for so long that the air smelled stale. Piles of old magazines and newspapers sat in the corners, jars of dead plant cuttings on all the tables. Lace doilies sprouted in profusion on the chairs and sofa.

Steven joined Kate on the too-soft, squat old sofa, his knees sticking up. Lorna plunked herself in the rocking chair.

"Goodness, I'd forgotten about this." She picked up a narrow, straggly length of knitting still hanging from its needles. "I wonder what I was trying to make," she said as she started knitting. "So. Why haven't you ever married, Steven?"

"Mother!"

"I guess the right girl has just…never come along." Steven's gaze roved over Kate.