A Purrfect Romance (10 page)

She was drawn instantly to the rail-topped wall that ran around the terrace and she went to it to drink in the fabulous view. Resting her arms comfortably on the rail, she marveled at the panorama of city lights that was spread in all its dazzling glory around her. Only then did she realize that the iron railing also separated off the small portion of the terrace that belonged to the Willey apartment. With a shock, she realized that several of the Willey windows, including those of her bedroom, were visible from the Brewster side.

Omigod
.

From here, anyone could see right into those windows.

“Looks pretty from up here, doesn’t it?”

She hadn’t heard Mack come out onto the terrace.

Startled, she let her attention be drawn away from those confounded windows, and she was captured again by the mesmerizing beauty of the city lights. Mack came around next to her, turned his back to the view, and rested his elbows against the terrace railing. For long minutes, mesmerized himself, his gaze rested on her face as she enjoyed the panoramic view. With her head turned away from him, she seemed to be unaware of him.

To the south, the sky-rising corporate towers marched like giant glass-and-steel robots down the length of Park Avenue. Along one side of the flower-decorated median, a stream of red taillights flowed endlessly, and on the other side, another stream of headlights flowed back toward them. Traffic lights winked red, then green, and in the distance, over the East River, a plane made its approach to LaGuardia, its wing lights flashing as it moved through the soft night.

“Yes, the city is lovely from here,” she said quietly, breaking the long silence.

Mack said nothing, for he himself was entranced. It seemed to him all the loveliness of the city was right there on his terrace. Her lively features were at rest now, but there was an animation, a kind of natural vitality that seemed to flow just below the surface, as though casting a glow from inside. The soft breeze moved gently through her hair, playfully lifting the little curls back from her face, and the terrace lights outlined the edge of her soft cheek, the arch of her slim throat, the warm curve of her delicate mouth.

Bridey was, of course, totally aware of his attention. How could she not be? Its force was palpable, radiating from him with an almost physical reality. His eyes were on her, only on her, and again, like that day in the park when his leg had touched hers, she responded to the intense, masculine presence of his body close to hers. The air seemed to grow heavier with the scent of flowers, and the traffic sounds below seemed to drift away, disappearing into the magic of the velvety night. And suddenly, she knew—oh yes, she knew—he was going to touch her; how could she not know? It was in the air, a blanket of excitement that had wrapped itself around them, an invisible bond that circled them in warm currents, connecting them inexorably.

His hand touched her face gently, as though the fingertips had a life of their own, and she turned her head toward him, leaning into that warm, strong hand. Their eyes held each other. She could feel her heart beating; she could feel her lips part slightly, as though she might speak. But there were no words. There was only the sudden thumping in her chest, only the gasp as her breath caught in her throat. And then there was only his mouth, as he bent toward her, moving closer, and then his lips touching hers, so softly, so softly . . .

Meanwhile, Satin was trying to take a catnap, in peace and quiet, and feeling put-upon by Silk’s antics. What’s gotten into her lately? Ever since this new person’s moved in, Silk has been acting peculiar. Not that she hadn’t always been a little flighty, but her behavior—which he used to find somewhat amusing—has turned downright neurotic. Take this matter of her adventure at the fish market, for example. What well-bred Russian Blue would go larking off to such low-class haunts, consorting with who knows whom, coming home smelling of perch and pike and with her fur all mussed? Scandalous! What would the old lady have said?

Wonder whatever happened to the old lady?

And what would she have said if she could see Silk right now, the way she was prowling around, burrowing into cushions and the corners of dark closets? Giddy one moment and irritable the next, picking fights, teasing him when he wanted to be left alone and refusing to play when he was in the mood.

Satin roused himself from his corner of the sofa, stretched languorously, arched himself up high on his four legs, yawned and then curled up again, with his face toward the back of the sofa, refusing to be bothered by Silk’s incomprehensible irritableness.

You’d think, with all this new-found energy, she’d be looking thinner than she does. But just look at her: she’s actually getting fat. Dreadful the way some females let themselves go.

And outside, on the terrace, Bridey was lost in Mack’s arms, lost in the warmth and wonder of his kiss, in the night and the gentle breeze, knowing only the magic of his lips and the electric, pounding current that was surging through her body, making her tremble, making her forget everything, making her want to stay there forever.

She opened her eyes, and the night and the stars began to spin, slowly at first and then faster. The heady scent of magnolia blossoms wrapped her in a hypnotic veil. She felt the earth slide away.

Their lips parted, the blood in her veins seemed to boil up from her toes . . . and then everything went black.

Her knees buckled and she slumped into a dead faint against Mack’s body.

His arms, already around her, tightened reflexively to hold her upright.

“Hey, there,” he said. “Bridey! Jeepers!”

He was totally dumbfounded. No girl had ever fainted at his kiss.

He bent and caught his arm beneath her knees and lifted her off her feet. In a state of astonishment, he looked around for some place to set her down.

He headed for his bedroom.

Bridey’s head was already clearing as he left the terrace. Scout was circling around them with his tail wagging and a puzzled expression on his face.

“What are you doing? Put me down! Mack, for God’s sake, put me down!”

“You fainted.”

He stood over his bed, about to set her down on it.

“That’s ridiculous! I didn’t faint. I couldn’t have. It was the magnolias.” She was struggling to get out of his arms. “Put me down this minute!”

She had turned into an awkward and unmanageable bundle, and he set her on her feet. As she stalked from the room, he followed her apologetically.

“Wait, Bridey.” He caught up with her at the bedroom door and reached for her arm. “Please, Bridey. Please wait.” He tried to stop her.

“What were you doing, carrying me to your bed?”

He turned beet red.

“It’s not like that. Please don’t think . . . I mean, no one ever fainted before . . . I mean, when I kissed them. I mean, dammit, Bridey, I had to put you down
somewhere
!” His tongue was in a tangle and she was beginning to find his confusion funny.

“And you just happened to pick your bed.”

“Well . . .” He realized she was teasing him and began to smile, a nice smile that lit his black eyes with a humorous appreciation of this silly situation. “It’s just that it’s never happened to me before. I never had a girl pass out on me like that.”

“Well, maybe it’s a sign. Like I’m getting a message that I better go home now.” She headed for his door. “Before I go into a coma or something.”

“No! Please don’t leave. You haven’t had your coffee. I haven’t had your cake. Please.”

“Well . . .”

He rushed to take advantage of her hesitation. “I’ll just pour the coffee. It’ll be good for you. Just what you need to clear your head.” He was already in the kitchen.

“Well . . .” She followed him halfway, winding up in the living room. “But I’m not going back on that terrace,” she called to him. “Your magnolia trees are deadly.”
Sure,
she added to herself.
It was the magnolia trees. Oh yeah!
She took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself.

She sat on the sofa and looked around, taking in the masses of books, the pictures, the evidence of a solid, respectable family. On the table next to her there was a telephone and an answering machine. Its light was flashing.

“You’ve got a message on your machine,” she called to him. She could hear him moving around in the kitchen, cups rattling, spoons being laid out.

“Would you mind hitting the button?” he called back. “I can hear it from here.”

“Sure.” She pressed “play.”

“Mack?” said a man’s voice. “It’s Hal Maudsley here. About eight o’clock, Monday night. Sorry I missed you. Didn’t get your message till late. Just wanted to let you know, I filed those papers already. Don’t worry. We’ll have those cats out of there in a couple of weeks, and then the board can deal with your offer.”

The message was like a slam against her heart. She looked up and saw Mack standing in the doorway, the tray of coffee cups and cream and sugar in his hands. His mouth was open and his face was the picture of dismay.

“Uh—”

Bridey stood up. “Never mind the coffee,” she said sharply. The message had hit her like a sledgehammer, knocking the whole evening out of her head, bringing her own predicament back to center stage.

Mack was looking down at the tray in his hands as though he couldn’t figure out how it got there.

“But—”

“No buts.” She was already in the hallway and paused with her hand on the doorknob of 12B. “I’ve got to finish up my stews for the night. You can keep the cake. This has certainly been an interesting evening. Something to think about.”

And she slammed the door behind her, hard. The pictures bounced on the walls, and Mack was left there, staring stupidly after her.

Silk came to inquire about her visit to Mack’s apartment and Bridey picked her up, glad to have someone to talk to.

“ ‘Come see my terrace,’ he said. ‘Look at the lovely view. I’ll make you a cup of coffee.’ Hah! I should have realized. He practically seduced me—with a bunch of magnolia trees yet—and it made me forget he means to take all this away from us. How could he? Oh, Silk, it’s not fair!”

She pressed her forehead against the soft space between Silk’s ears.

“Would you believe—oh, my dear—would you believe,” she whispered into the velvet of Silk’s fur, “I let that man kiss me. In spite of everything, I let him kiss me!” But she couldn’t help remembering. “And when he did, it was like I went riding off somewhere out in space. Like my head filled up with air and there was music somewhere and perfume all around . . .”

She rubbed her cheek against Silk’s face. She was swept up in the memory of that kiss, and her anger and anxiety got twisted into the memory.

“Oh, Silk. It was truly, really truly awesome!”

“Y
ou what?”

“You heard me.”

“Oh, Bridey. Omigod, Bridey!”

Marge was so astonished she could only keep repeating the words. “Omigod, Bridey!” She had meant to make this a quick call between finishing her Tuesday morning meetings and diving into all the work that was waiting on her desk, but Bridey’s account of last night’s experience drove everything else out of her mind. The idea of fainting at a man’s kiss . . . well! It was just too delicious!

“I can’t believe it.” She laughed. “I never heard of such a thing. Bridey, you are absolutely such a Victorian! No girl gets the vapors nowadays. It’s just too wonderful. This man must be absolutely dynamite!”

“He’s not dynamite. Not even! He’s just a guy who doesn’t happen to have my welfare at heart and who just happened to kiss me. You know, I have been kissed before, Marge. It’s not like I’m twelve years old or something. It’s nothing. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“No, really. It must have been something I ate, or something. Maybe it was the scent of the flowers.” She had to laugh, too. The whole thing seemed pretty silly now. “Anyway, I think I scared the starch right out of him. He got all confused and tried to carry me into his bedroom.”

“His bedroom!”

“Well, he had to put me down somewhere, didn’t he?”

“Doesn’t sound confused to me!”

“Well, whatever. Anyway, I came to and made him let me go. And I was out of there soon enough, before things got out of hand.”

“Oh, shoot.” Marge’s voice revealed serious disappointment. “That is, you did the right thing, I guess. But still, it would have been sort of interesting if you—”

“Don’t even go there!” Bridey interrupted her. “I don’t even want to think about it. This man is nothing but trouble for me, Marge. The last thing I need is to get all weak-kneed about him.”

“Bridey, sweetie, this is me, Marge, you’re talking to. You can protest all you want, but I think you’re falling for this Mack Brewster. Girls don’t faint over just any guy, and I hear something in your voice that tells me—”

“You’re wrong, Marge.” Bridey brushed off her friend’s suggestion. “You’re just hearing your own overheated romantic fantasies. There isn’t anything at all in my voice—”

She was interrupted by the call-waiting signal.

“Hold on a minute,” she said. “I’ve got another call.”

She put Marge on hold, and when she clicked on the second call, she heard Gerald Kinski on the line.

“Bridey?” The lawyer sounded harried, more rushed than usual. “Bridey, I haven’t much time, but I’ve just received some information I thought I should pass on to you. I’m afraid it’s bad news.”

“Bad news?” Her heart dropped.

“We’ve just received notice that the Six Twelve co-op board is going full steam ahead with their action against the will. The papers have been served and the board is apparently serious about taking over that apartment as soon as possible. We’ll fight it, of course, but I have to say I think their case isn’t entirely without merit. They’ve sent me a copy of the bylaws and the Willey proprietary lease. It’s all a lot of legal mumbo jumbo, of course, and I don’t have time to explain it now, but here’s the bottom line: they’ll try to convince the court that, according to the rules, the apartment may be conveyed only to a family member. Our position will be that this is actually a transfer to a trust, which I believe is permitted by the co-op rules. Maybe, with luck, and if the judge likes cats . . .”

Bridey could hear the uncertain tone in his voice and knew he was less than optimistic about his chances of convincing anyone. After all, $70 million to a couple of pets might just raise some hackles, especially judicial hackles.

This was awful news. Gerry’s phone call was dumping her even deeper into despair, bringing a hard reality still closer.

“If you can’t convince the court,” she said, “and the board wins, how much time will I have?”

“Hard to say. If they really push it, maybe not more than a couple of weeks.”

The wave of disappointment that crashed over her was powerful enough to make her gasp. She felt tears welling up and had to force herself to remember that she was no longer a little girl; she was old enough to know that disappointments are part of life. But oh, it really was hard. Everything had started out so beautifully, and now this!

“I’m really sorry, Bridey.”

“I know, Mr. Kinski.” Silk and Satin had come to sit next to her, as though they knew she needed comforting, and as she stroked their backs, they arched against her in sympathy. She forced back the tears and kept her voice as normal as she could. “I know, and I appreciate your calling to let me know. Do you think I should start looking for another place?”

“Oh no. I don’t think so, not yet. Let me feel them out and see if we can at least get a delay before we have to go to court. If they don’t have a firm offer from a buyer lined up yet, they may be willing to slow things down a little. Give you a little extra time.”

Her eyes went to the wall, as though she could see through to the apartment next door.

“I wouldn’t count on them not having a buyer. Mack Brewster wants this place, and I think he’s the one who’s pushing them. But who knows,” she added as brightly as she could, trying to muster some optimism, “maybe you’ll be successful and Henrietta’s will is going to stand up.” If only saying it could make it so.

“That’s the spirit, Bridey. Please be assured we’ll do our best.”

“I know you will, Mr. Kinski.”

“Oh, by the way . . .” He’d been about to hang up and then remembered something else. “Speaking of Mack Brewster. I had my associate do a little research and here’s what we found out about Mackenzie Brewster’s business. His father was Llewellyn Brewster, one of the founders of Harmon and Brewster Publishers. They’re one of the oldest publishing houses in New York. When Llewellyn died, his son took over the firm.”

Publishing. So that’s what he does. I should have guessed, from all those books in his place.

“The firm’s been around for ages,” Gerald continued. “They handle scholarly works mostly, nonfiction and research materials. History, political science, that sort of thing. Very solid company, and very, very posh. The son seems to be in the family tradition, deals only with the most intellectual stuff. I hear he’s supposed to be very staid and conservative. My sources tell me he went to all the right schools, did a tour in the Navy, belongs to a couple of good clubs. Gets seen around town with some of the usual bright young women, but no one steady.
New York
magazine covered him last year in an article on New York’s new crop of eligible bachelors. Thought you might like to know.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kinski. I’m sure he’s a very upright individual.” She tried to keep the sarcasm down, but it was an effort.

“So that’s all for now. I’ll keep you posted, Bridey. In the meantime, you keep working away. Maybe everything will turn out just fine.”

She tried to sound upbeat. “I hope so.”

They both hung up.

Bridey stared out of the window, feeling resentful that outside the day was full of sunshine. Shouldn’t it be dreary and gray, with at least a little rain to mirror the gloom in her heart? Just when everything seemed the most bleak, just when she felt the most embarrassed and frustrated by the events of the previous evening, betrayed by her own emotions, threatened by the apartment-greedy co-op board and its legal maneuverings, why was New York wearing its cheeriest attire, its trees turning bright green under a crystal sky, the happy jingle of an ice cream truck reaching up to her from far below, singing of summer’s approach? Why, when her career and all her dreams were threatened, was the city putting on its most optimistic face? Even the potted geraniums on the balcony outside the French doors seemed especially vivid.

The phone rang again.

Omigod! I forgot Marge!

But it wasn’t Marge. It was Gerald Kinski again.

“Sorry to bother you, Bridey, but just after I hung up, a registered letter was handed to me. More bad news, I’m afraid. Are you sitting down?”

Her heart sank still further. It seemed to be stuck somewhere around her navel.

“Is it that bad?” she asked. A sparrow flew onto the balcony railing and began to chirp away merrily, and Satin went to investigate. Silk jumped down from the sofa, too, and joined her brother in the sunshine. “Is it so bad that I have to sit down?”

“It may be.”

Involuntarily, she stood up and started pacing in circles.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

“The letter is really amazing. It’s from attorneys representing someone named Afton G. Morley. Claims to be a relative of Henrietta Willey from somewhere out west, in Idaho.”

“But I thought she didn’t have any relatives.”

“Must be someone she didn’t know about. Says here ‘first cousin twice removed.’ ”

“But how did this Afton Morley know about the will?”

“I have no idea. But they’ve apparently got documents to authenticate the relationship. If this is legitimate, we’ve got new problems.”

“Afton. What kind of a name is that? Male or female?”

“The letter doesn’t indicate.”

“So what does this Afton, he or she, have to say?”

“The letter says he—or she—is coming to New York to examine the apartment, see what the property looks like. Asks for an appointment on Friday here in my office, and then a trip uptown to see the place. If you don’t want to be there, Bridey, you can be out for a few hours. What do you think?”

“No, that’s all right. I’d like to be here.” Like the crazy compulsion to drive into oncoming headlights, she was drawn irresistibly to seeing Afton Morley in person.

“Okay, if you’re sure about that. I’ll call you first so you’ll know when to expect us.”

She clicked off the phone and stared desolately into space.

“Oh, great,” she said to no one at all, “it seems like everyone is ganging up on me. First the co-op board, then Mack and now this new person. Everyone seems to be trying to get me out of here.” She couldn’t hold back the tears now, and they fell in big drops. Silk came and rubbed her sweet face against Bridey’s ankles, and she pulled her up into her lap.

“And if any one of them succeeds,” she sniffled mournfully, “you and Satin will be out of here, too. You don’t understand that, do you?”

She dug her fingers into Silk’s blue-gray fur and gently scratched the deep pelt at the back of the cat’s neck.

“You’re just fat and sassy and totally without a worry in the world, aren’t you? Oh, sweetie, if you only knew what’s happening here.”

The phone interrupted her again. She wiped her wet face, brushing away the tears, and forced her voice to sound steady.

This time it was Mack. “Listen, we really do need to talk,” he said. His voice was a mixture of contrition, eagerness, and command. “About last night—”

“Never mind last night,” she said. Despite her misery, a sudden, triumphant thrill raced through her. It had just occurred to her: Now she had something that would rattle his chains, instead of the other way around. “I’ve just had some news that concerns you,” she said.

“Oh?”

He must have caught the one-up tone in her voice, for she could hear him come up short, like a cartoon character suddenly digging his skidding heels into the dirt. The comical image made her feel better instantly.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s about your campaign to capture this apartment. It’s just run into a major road block.”

There was a short silence while he took that in.

“What are you talking about?” he said finally, his tone cautious.

“Gerald Kinski called me not more than a minute ago. You’ll never guess what it is.”

“Don’t play games with me, Bridey.” Now he sounded impatient. “Just tell me what he said.”

Oh, how she wished she could draw it out, tease him a little, let him stew in his own impatience for a minute. But her news was bursting out of her and she couldn’t contain it.

“A relative has turned up.”

“A relative?”

“Yes. A relative of Henrietta Willey, with a claim against the estate. Someone out west, apparently someone Mrs. Willey didn’t know about. He—or she—is coming here on Friday to see the apartment. So I guess this changes things considerably.”

There was silence on the other end, so she went on. “Of course, this changes things for me, too,” she said.

There was still no sound from Mack.

“If their claim is good, I’ll be out on my ear, and I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Silence.

“Mack? Are you still there?”

“I’m thinking.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking the co-op board has an interest in all this,” he said thoughtfully. “Someone should be there on Friday to represent the board. I’ll talk to Harold Maudsley first, but I think he’ll want me to be on hand when this person arrives.”

“Why not? The more the merrier. It’ll be a regular party,” she said sarcastically.

“Then it’s a date. I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Sure. It’s a date.”