Once Around (7 page)

"
Mrs. Chamberlain." He extended his right hand in greeting.

"
Molly," she said, rising gracefully to her feet. She clasped his hand. Again the cool touch of her skin took him by surprise. He had the feeling she was the kind of woman who would always take him by surprise. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Spencer."

He liked the way his name sounded when she said it.
"We'll talk in my office."

He stepped to the right to let her pass. His hand rested lightly on the small of her back as he escorted her inside. He ignored his assistant Annie
's curious glance. He wasn't a toucher. Everyone knew that.

"
Coffee?" he asked as she sank into the deep blue armchair in front of his desk.

"
Water," she said. Her hands rested lightly across her flat belly. "Caffeine's no good for the baby."

He felt a surge of disappointment at the reminder that she was
, in all the ways that mattered, unapproachable. "Water it is," he said, then filled a crystal tumbler with iced water from the pitcher atop the bar. He poured himself one as well.

"
Thank you." She took a sip. Her lips were full and tinted a deep peach. She didn't even leave a lipstick mark on the rim of the glass. Her skin was fair and clear. No freckles for this redhead. The gods wouldn't do that to an angel. Her eyes were large and vivid blue, framed by thick dark lashes that cast shadows on her cheeks. She had an artist's hand with makeup, and he was connoisseur enough to appreciate the effort she put into looking the way she did. She even smelled incredible, like the beach at dawn. Women didn't get much better than this. If they did, he hadn't been living right.

He sat down behind his desk. He felt vaguely fraudulent. There was something about her that made him acutely aware of his shortcomings
, both real and imagined.

"
So what can I do for you today?" he asked, then looked on in astonishment as the beautiful Molly Chamberlain began to cry.

It was like watching the Mona Lisa cry
, a deconstruction of serenity that shocked him to the core. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away those tears, every single goddamn one of them, but she was here as a client, and he knew the rules. He pushed a box of tissues across the desk toward her and waited.

"
I'm sorry," she said when the tears subsided. "I don't know where that came from."

"
You're going through a stressful time," he said, struggling to retain his professional equanimity in the face of such appealing disorder. She looked better now, tearstained and wretched, than most women looked on their wedding day.

"
I must look terrible." Her hands fluttered about her face as if she wanted to shield him from the way she looked. She wasn't fishing for a compliment; she seemed genuinely embarrassed.

"
You look beautiful." He hadn't meant to say that, but the words wouldn't be stopped. He consoled himself with the fact that she must hear those words a thousand times a day, from men in a better position to act on them.

She sniffed delicately into a tissue then met his eyes across the desktop. She looked almost grateful
, but then again that could be his imagination. "You're kind," she said, not smiling. It was an observation, nothing more. "I appreciate it."

He waited while
she took another sip of water and composed herself.

"
It's my husband," she said at last. "He came to the house yesterday and took everything."

"
He came for his belongings," Spencer said, making notes with the fat gold-nibbed pen that had belonged to his brother Owen.

"
He came for more than his belongings," she said.. "He took just about everything we owned. Furniture, lamps, books, you name it."

"
Where were you when this happened?"

Her expression shifted.
"At the obstetrician's office." Spencer shook his head in disgust as the pen slid across the page. "Nice guy."

"
He used to be," Molly said. "At least, I thought so until he fell in love with somebody else."

"
Nice guys can surprise you."

"
Well, he surprised me yesterday when he cleaned out the house." She sat up straighter in the chair, and he watched, amazed, as she lost that vulnerable look and became the sophisticated woman he'd greeted in the waiting room not twenty minutes ago. "What can we do about it?"

"
We could have done a lot more before the fact."

"
That doesn't help me now, does it?" She said it quietly, with no particular degree of anger in her tone, but he felt her disapproval bone deep.

"
No, it doesn't," he said. "You said on the phone that he canceled your credit cards."

"
All twelve of them." She crossed, her legs. He pretended not to notice. "There was still three thousand dollars in my work-related checking account when I emptied it this morning."

"
Good move."

She inclined her head in acknowledgment. He found it hard to believe she was the same woman who
'd burst into tears the second she sat down.

"
What other assets do you have?"

"
My clothes," she said. "My car. The house."

"
Not the house," he said. "You own that jointly, don't you?"

"
Yes, but—"

"
The law is very specific about that. The house is a joint asset."

"
My father gave us forty percent of the purchase price as a down payment."

"
As a loan or a gift?"

"
A loan," she said.

"
Good. Gifts come with no strings. A loan requires repayment. To your side of the family. That tips the balance in your favor."

"
I don't really understand."

"
Trust me," he said. "This is ammunition we can use."

"
I hate the way that sounds."

"
You'll hate it even more if you and your baby end up with nothing."

"
That's what my neighbor said."

"
Your neighbor's right."

"
So what do I do now?" she asked.

"
I need a list of everything that's missing. Some photos of the house before, if you have any. Some photos of it right now. Any witnesses who might have seen your husband loading up the moving van. We'll hire an investigator to find out what he did with the furniture. Then I talk to his attorney."

She looked disappointed.
"I thought you'd talk to his attorney right now."

"
We don't want to tip our hand." He hated that look in her eyes, as if he'd somehow failed to measure up.

"
I'm more worried about how to pay my bills."

"
You have the money from the checking account," he pointed out.

"
Right," she said, meeting his eyes. "That should last me until the baby graduates high school."

There was no mistaking the sharp edge to her words. He had to change direction fast or lose the moment.

"I have some ideas." He glanced at his watch. "It's almost noon. Why don't we continue this over lunch?"

La Perroquet was a little jewel of a restaurant tucked into Palmer Square: whitewashed stucco walls
, lots of flowers, a table for two outside in the enclosed garden. Early autumn sunshine streamed down on them, filtered through the leafy maple trees that had been around when George Washington walked those Princeton streets.

"
I used to do this all the time," Molly said as she closed her menu.

Spencer Mackenzie aimed one of his edgy grins in her direction.
"Eat?"

"
Lunch," she said, tapping his forearm lightly with the edge of the menu. "I am descended from a long line of lunching ladies. It's my birthright."

"
We must be related," he said. "My mother's made a career of it."

She grinned back at him.
"You're Jewish, too? With a name like Mackenzie, I would never have guessed."

"
Kelly isn't a Jewish name," he observed.

"
My mother's Jewish, my father's Catholic," she said.

"
Must have been great around holiday time."

"
Great and confusing. My lunching genes, though, come straight from my mother."

"
Lunch crosses all social and religious barriers. The UN should hold peace talks over lunch. Then we'd get somewhere."

She laughed out loud for the first time in weeks.
"I nominate you for secretary of state. You're very diplomatic."

"
Not often enough. Ask my family."

He t
old her a story about the time his mother went into labor at Tavern on the Green and ended up giving birth in the back of the family limousine en route home to Greenwich.

"
I shouldn't laugh," she said, doing exactly that. "God knows where I'll end up giving birth."

"
In a hospital room," he said, "exactly the way you have it planned."

"
From your mouth to God's ear." She speared a leaf of romaine with her fork. "Right now I'm not sure how I'll pay the doctor's bill."

"
That's what you have me for," he said. "I'll worry about bills. You worry about decorating the nursery."

She took a deep breath then met his eyes.
"And who's going to worry about paying you?"

"
That's how you know I'll do a good job," he said, that poster-boy grin making a reappearance. "It's in my own best interest."

'
You sound like a lawyer," she observed with maybe a touch more sharpness than she'd intended.

"
We're not all bastards," he said.

"
You read my mind."

A little while later t
hey stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. "Feel like walking?" he asked.

"
Why not?" she asked. "There's no place I have to be."

"
You don't remember me, do you?" he asked as they strolled to the corner of Nassau Street and the Square. "We've met before."

She searched her memory bank but came up blank.

"Deni's wedding last year," he said. "We did a tango."

She stopped and stared at him.
"That was you?"

"
None other."

"
I stepped on your foot at least three times."

"
Four," he said. "Not that I was counting."

"
I owe you an apology," she said as they started walking again.

"
I'll settle for another tango one day."

She placed her hands on her stomach.
"My tango days are over for a while."

"
I'm a patient man," he said, meeting her eyes. "I'm willing to wait."

She
noticed the way he took her arm again when they crossed Nassau Street, then held onto it a little longer than absolutely necessary. They both pretended nothing had happened, but she knew that he knew she'd been aware of the possibilities hidden in that touch. It was the kind of touch she understood, and her response was familiar and comforting. Nothing like the wild burst of flame she'd felt just thinking about Rafe Garrick.

They walked down to the U Store
, and she noted the upscale cosmetics on display in the window. "No money troubles in Princeton," she remarked, unable to keep the edge of bitterness from her voice.

"
You'll be fine," Spencer said, touching her hand for the briefest moment. He reminded her so much of Robert, the Robert she'd fallen in love with and married. Her easygoing, companionable partner.

"
Short of robbing a bank, I don't see how. I'd go back to working full-time, but the doctor thinks the daily commute to Manhattan would be risky right now. I've taken on as many manuscripts as they'll give me." She'd explained that so often lately she could do it in her sleep.

"
Be patient," he said. "It will all work out"

She wanted to ask him how he could be so sure
, but the sun was shining, he was giving her one of those reassuring smiles, and besides, would it kill her to believe he might be right?

#

A battered red pickup truck was parked in front of her house when Molly got home. "There's nothing left," she muttered grimly. Not unless they were there to steal the carpeting. Reality had hit her right between the eyes on her way home. She'd been so dazzled by Spencer Mackenzie's warmth and concern that it hadn't occurred to her that he'd yet to offer one solid piece of advice.