A Fashionable Affair (5 page)

“That’s true.” For some reason Patsy began to
feel depressed. “I don’t know why, either.”

“Your love affairs always conformed to whatever
book you were reading at the time,” Michael said
unexpectedly. “When you were reading
Anna
Karenina
you fell for Derek Forsyte, a Vronsky
type if ever I saw one.” Patsy stared at him in aston
ishment. “Then there was Peter Carteret when you
were reading
Pride and Prejudice.”

There was a moment’s silence. “Do you know,” Patsy said in awed accents, “I believe you’re right.”

Sally and Steve rocked with laughter and Michael
grinned.

Patsy thought of the book she had been reading
when she fell for Don. “But this is awful!” she said distressfully.

“Don’t worry about it, Red,” Michael said good-
naturedly. “It’s part of your charm.”

Patsy straightened her shoulders. He sounded
like her uncle, she thought indignantly. “Does the psychoanalysis come free or do you include it in
your accounting fee?” she asked nastily.

He didn’t seem to realize he’d been insulted. “It’s
free,” he replied, looking directly at her.
“Anytime.”

The fluttery feeling was back in her stomach. His
green-gold gaze held hers for a minute, then
moved across the table to his sister’s face. “How is
Uncle Frank doing?” he asked, effectively drop
ping Patsy from his sight, his attention, and his con
versation. Patsy stared at him in a mixture of outrage, bewilderment, and a new emotion she
didn’t quite yet recognize.

After dinner Michael and Sally huddled over the
math problem Sally had mentioned earlier, and
Steve switched on the TV. Patsy sat and watched
with him, feeling ignored. It was a feeling she was
totally unfamiliar with, and one she didn’t like at
all.

Before Steve drove him home, Michael asked
Patsy if she would stop by his place in the morning before returning to New York. He had a few things
to ask her about her tax records. Patsy opened her
mouth to say no. But she said yes, instead.

Sally’s children were early risers—Patsy had Steven
in bed with her at seven—and by nine o’clock the
whole family was fed, and the grown-ups were showered and dressed.

“I’m going to rout Michael out,” Patsy said to
Sally. “I want to get back to New York by this after
noon.”

“Okay,” Sally said. “I just hope he didn’t stay up
all night working on that problem.”

“Didn’t you solve it last night?”

“Not completely. Frankly, I wasn’t getting any
where with it. Michael will, though.” She made a
rueful face at Patsy. “And
I’m
the one with the
degree in higher mathematics. I’m also very smart.
Michael, however, is a genius.”

“He was always going to major in math,” Patsy
said slowly. “What made him switch to accounting?”

“Have another cup of coffee before you go?”
Sally asked.

“Okay.” Patsy sat at the kitchen table. The sun
was shining in the windows and from the next room
came the sound of the baby romping in his playpen. Steve had taken Steven with him to get the morning
papers.

Sally poured the coffee and sat down as well. “It
was my father,” she said, “or at least, what hap
pened to my father.”

“I wondered.”

“You remember how awful it was, Patsy? There
was Daddy, president of his own engineering firm,
respected, successful, and then—
bam
—bankruptcy.
None of us had any idea that Cal Perkins had been
embezzling from the firm. Or making those terrible
investments. He was always good ole Cal, Daddy’s
trusted partner. Then Cal was in South America,
and Daddy was left to face the music.”

“Which he couldn’t do,” Patsy murmured sadly.

“No.” Sally stared broodingly into her coffee cup. “The firm’s collapse was bad enough. Daddy’s sui
cide was”—she made a gesture—”unspeakable.”

“I know,” Patsy whispered.

“Michael couldn’t get it out of his mind that Cal
had gotten away with robbery like that for years.
He couldn’t believe that an audit hadn’t picked it
up. But Cal was clever, and evidently the auditor was not very thorough.”

“Or as equally crooked,” Patsy said.

“Or as equally crooked. Anyway, that was when Michael switched majors. Luckily, he had a wres
tling scholarship, because there wasn’t any family
money left. I think it’s kind of a crusade with
him—to catch the crooks and protect the innocent.”

“The incompetent nuisances with their affairs in
a mess,” Patsy quoted wryly.

“Precisely.” Sally’s thin, intelligent face was very
serious. “He’s not too popular in certain quarters,
I’m afraid. He stirred up a nest of hornets when he
caught Blanco.”

“Mmm.” Patsy stirred her coffee. “Who are his
girlfriends?” she asked, completely changing the
subject.

“There’s been a succession,” Sally replied, “but since college, he hasn’t been serious about anyone.
They’ve all been just—diversions.” She sighed. “I
wish he would get serious about someone. He
should have his own kids, and not be spending all his paternal instincts on mine.”

“Mmm,” Patsy said again.

“You too.” Sally eyed her friend. “It’s time you
stopped living like a butterfly and started thinking
of settling down. You adore children.”

“Like Michael, I have yours.”

“Well, I’m not going to nag. I know you have a
fairy-tale life and make millions of dollars, but I
also know the real
you,
the person behind that
incredible beauty of yours.” She rested her chin on
her hands and looked thoughtfully at said incredi
bly beautiful face. “I know we were teasing you last
night, Patsy, but hasn’t there ever been anyone you
wanted to marry?”

“No,” Patsy admitted regretfully. “There have
been men I thought I was in love with, but to be
honest, I never had any urge to marry. Which is
funny, when you think of it, because I
do
want to get
married; I
do
want children. But it has to be the
right man, and so far ...” She made a helpless ges
ture with her hands.

“I know. I was so lucky to find Steve. Without
him, the world wouldn’t make sense—if you know
what I mean.”

“Yes,” Patsy said. “I do.”

“I used to wonder sometimes what it must be like
to be you, to live inside such a flawless body. Every
thing always seemed so easy for you. Anything you
wanted, you got—with just a smile. The whole
world was always in love with Patsy Clark.”

Patsy’s brown eyes were somber. She brushed a
stray golden-red curl off her forehead and said, “It
isn’t always good to get things too easily.”

“I suppose not. I said that to Michael once, you
know, about wondering what it must be like to be
you.”

“Oh? And what did he say?”

“He said a very strange thing—a very perceptive
thing, I think. He said that great beauty can some
times be a burden, that a great many people will
never get beyond the beauty, will be so affected by it that they’ll totally fail to find the person under
neath. He said it must often be difficult to be that
person underneath.”

There was a brief silence, and then Patsy said
“That
was
a rather perceptive comment.” Even to
herself her voice sounded odd. She pushed her
coffee cup away and rose. “Well, Sal, thanks so
much for the hospitality, but I’d better be pushing
on.”

“Okay,” Sally said equably. “Do you want me to
ring Michael and tell him you’re on the way?”

“That might be a good idea. I don’t want to rout him out of bed.”

“Will do,” Sally promised and walked Patsy to her
car. It was nine-thirty when Patsy pulled out of the
driveway and started across the island toward the
south shore and Michael Melville.

* * * *

Michael was renting a house in East Hampstead,
and at precisely five minutes after ten, Patsy rang
his front doorbell. Receiving no answer, she rang
again. His car was parked in the driveway, so she
knew he must be home. She was just preparing to
ring again when she heard a voice saying, “Okay,
okay, I’m coming,” and the door opened.

Michael stood in the doorway, wallet in hand. He
was wearing a bathrobe over his pajama bottoms.
His hair was tousled and he was unshaven. His feet
were bare. He stared at Patsy. “I thought you were the paperboy collecting.”

“I’m not,” she answered helpfully.

“No, I can see that.” He rubbed his head. “Sorry,
the doorbell woke me up.”

“Didn’t Sally call to say I was on my way?”

“No.”

“Oh she must have gotten sidetracked.” There was a pause before she added, “Do you keep all your clients hanging about on the doorstep like
this?”

“Sorry,” he muttered, and held the door open
wider. “Come on in. What time is it?”

“Ten o’clock. It’s easy to see there are no children
in this house.”

They were standing together in the hall, he
rubbed his head again and yawned. “I was up half
the night with that damn math problem.”

“Hmmm. Do you always look this ghastly in the
morning?”

At that he grinned. “Come into the kitchen. I
need a cup of coffee.”

“Several, I should think,” Patsy murmured. She
followed him into an old-fashioned kitchen and
watched as he assembled the coffee things. “I’ll
make it,” she offered. “Why don’t you go shower?”

A piece of his hair was standing straight up and
she suddenly recalled the way he had looked as a little
boy. “Good idea,” he said. He smiled faintly. “I’ll
even shave.”

He didn’t look ghastly at all, Patsy thought. In
fact, his rumpled, tousled, half-naked state was
rather disturbingly attractive. Good God, Patsy
thought, as she realized where her thoughts were
leading her. This is Michael! Sally’s little brother! What on earth has gotten into me? She marched to
the percolator with determination and began to
measure the coffee. Behind her, she heard him
leave the room and go upstairs.

She was sitting at the scarred wooden table with a
cup in front of her when he returned to the
kitchen. His black hair was wet from the shower,
and he was wearing an old pair of jeans and a plaid
sport shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He went to
the counter, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat across from Patsy.

“What time did Steven have you up this morn
ing?” he asked.

“He arrived in my bed at seven sharp. To keep
me company, he said. Mommy had Daddy, after all,
and he was afraid I was lonely.”

He grinned. “What a diabolically clever excuse
for getting into bed with a girl. I must remember
it.”

Patsy gave him an austere look. “Would you like
me to scramble you some eggs?”

“Great.” He sipped his coffee as Patsy collected
eggs from the refrigerator and broke them into a
bowl. He put the news on the radio, and they both
listened while she cooked. When the weather report came on, Michael turned the volume up
slightly. As Patsy placed a plate of scrambled eggs
and toast in front of him, he gave her an absent-
minded smile and picked up his fork, his attention
clearly on the weatherman and not on her.
Strangely enough, Patsy did not feel annoyed. At
the moment she felt only contentment in waiting on
him, and she sat across from him again and
watched him eat. When the weather report was
over, he switched the radio off and looked at her.

“The eggs are good, Red.”

Patsy felt an absurd glow of pleasure at his words.
Her lips curved a little and she took a bite of the
toast she had made for herself. “Did you solve it?”
she asked.