Her Own Rules/Dangerous to Know (3 page)

“It's me,” Meredith said when Catherine answered.

“Hi, Mom!” Catherine exclaimed, sounding genuinely pleased to hear her mother's voice. “How're things?”

“Pretty good. I'm off to London and Paris on Saturday.”

“Lucky thing! Can I come with you?”

“Of course! I'd love it. You know that, darling.”

“I can't, Mom, much as I'd enjoy playing hookey in Paris with you, having a good time. I have to finish the illustrations for Madeleine McGrath's new children's book, and I've several book jackets lined up. Oh but I can dream, can't I?”

“Yes, you can, and I'm so glad things are going well for you with your work. But if you suddenly decided you can get away, call Amy. She'll book your flight and get you a ticket before you can even say Jack Robinson.”

Catherine began to laugh. “I haven't heard you use that expression for years, not since I was a kid. You told me once where it came from, but now I can't remember. It's such an odd expression.”

“Yes, it is, and it's something I learnt when I was growing up in Australia. I think it originated in England and was brought over by the Pommies. Australians started to use it, and I guess it became part of our idiomatic speech. Sort of slang, really.”

“Now I remember, and you told us that it meant
in a jiffy.”

“Less than a jiffy, actually,” Meredith said, laughing with her daughter. “Anyway, think about coming to Paris or London. You know how much I enjoy traveling with you. How's Keith?”

Catherine let out a long sigh. “He's fantastic . . . yummy.”

“You sound happy, Cat.”

“Oh I am, Mom, I am. I'm crazy about him.”

“Is it getting serious?”

“Very.”
Catherine cleared her throat. “Mom, I think he's going to propose soon.”

For a split second Meredith was taken aback and she was silent at the other end of the phone.

“Mom, are you still there?”

“Yes, darling.”

“You do approve . . . don't you?”

“Of course I do. I like Keith a lot, and I was just surprised for a moment, that's all. It seems to have progressed very quickly . . . what I mean is, you haven't known him all that long.”

“Six months. That's enough time, isn't it?”

“I suppose so.”

Catherine said, “Actually, Keith and I fell in love with each other the moment we met. It was a
coup de foudre
, as the French are wont to say.”

Meredith smiled to herself. “Ah yes, struck by lightning . . . I know what you mean.”

“Is that how it was with my father?”

Meredith hesitated. “Not really, Cat . . . Well, in a way, yes. Except we didn't admit that to each other for a long time.”

“Well, you couldn't, could you. I mean, given the peculiar circumstances. It must've been hell for you.”

“No, it wasn't, strangely enough. Anyway, that's an old,
old
story and now's not the time to start going into it again.”

“Was it a
coup de foudre
when you met David?”

“No,” Meredith said, and thought of Jonathan's father for the first time in several years. “We loved each other, but it wasn't a . . . crazy love.”

“I always knew that, I guess. It's a crazy love between me and Keith, and when he asks me, I'm obviously going to say yes. You really
do
approve, don't you, Mom?” she asked again.

“Very much so, darling, and if he pops the question while I'm in London or Paris, you will let me know at once, won't you?”

“I sure will. And I bet we make you a grandmother before you can say . . . Jack Robinson.” Catherine giggled.

Meredith said, “You're not pregnant, are you?”

“Don't be silly, Mom, of course I'm not. But I can't wait to have a baby. Before I get too old.”

Meredith burst out laughing. “Don't be so ridiculous, you're only twenty-five.”

“I know, but I want to have children while I'm young, the way you did.”

“You always were a regular old mother hen, even when you were little. But listen, honey, I'm going to have to go. Jonas is driving me up to Silver Lake Inn tonight. I have a meeting at Hilltops tomorrow. I'll be back in New York tomorrow evening, if you need me. Good night, Cat. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom. Say hello to Blanche and Pete, give them my love. And listen, take care.”

“I will. Talk to you tomorrow, and God bless.”

After hanging up the phone, Meredith sat at her desk for a moment or two, her thoughts with her daughter. Of course Keith Pearson would propose, and very soon, Meredith was quite certain of that. There was going to be a wedding this year. Her face lit up at the thought of it. Catherine was going to be a beautiful bride, and she would give her daughter a memorable wedding.

Meredith rose, walked over to the window, and stood staring out at the Manhattan skyline. New York City, she murmured to herself, the place I've made my home. Such a long way from Sydney, Australia . . . how far I've come and in so many different ways. I took my terrible life and turned it around. I made a new life for myself. I took the pain and heartbreak and I built on them . . . I used them as pilings upon which to build
my
strong citadel in much the same way the Venetians built theirs on pilings driven into the sandbanks. And I did it all by myself . . . no, not entirely by myself. Jack and Amelia helped me.

Meredith's eyes swept around the elegant room decorated in various shades of pale gray, lavender, and amethyst. They took in the rich silks and velvets used to upholster the sofas and chairs, the sleek gray lacquer finishes on the modern furniture, the French and American modern impressionist paintings by Taurelle, Epko, and Guy Wiggins.

And she saw it as if for the first time, through newly objective eyes, and she could not help wondering what Jack and Amelia would think of it . . . what they would think of all that she had accomplished.

Her throat tightened with a rush of sudden emotion, and she stepped back to the desk and sat down, her eyes now lingering on the two photographs in their silver frames that she always kept there in front of her.

One photograph was of Catherine and Jonathan taken when they were children; Cat had been twelve, Jon eight, and what beauties they had been. Free spirits and so finely wrought.

The other picture was of Amelia and Jack and her. How young she looked. Tanned and blonde and so unsophisticated. She had been just twenty-one years old when the picture was taken at Silver Lake.

Jack and Amelia would be proud of me, she thought. After all, they helped to make me what I am, and in a sense I am their creation. And they are the best part of me.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

W
henever she came back to Silver Lake, Meredith experienced a feeling of excitement. No matter how long she had been absent, be it months on end, a week, or merely a few days, she returned with a sense of joyousness welling inside, the knowledge that she was coming home.

Tonight was no exception.

Her anticipation started the moment Jonas pulled off Route 45 North near Cornwall, and nosed the car through the big iron gates that marked the entrance to the vast Silver Lake property.

Jonas drove slowly down the road that led to the lake, the inn, and the small compound of buildings on its shores. It was a good road, well illuminated by the old-fashioned street lamps Meredith had installed some years before.

Peering out of the car windows, she could see that Pete had had some of the workers busy with the bulldozer earlier in the day. The road was clear, the snow banked high like giant white hedges, and in the woods that traversed the road on either side there were huge drifts blown by the wind into weird sand-dune shapes.

The branches of the trees were heavy with snow, many of them dripping icicles, and in the moonlight the pristine white landscape appeared to shimmer as if sprinkled with a fine coating of silver dust.

Meredith could not help thinking how beautiful the woods were in their winter garb. But then, this land was always glorious, no matter what the season of the year, and it was so special to her, no other place in the world could compare to it.

The first time she had set eyes on Silver Lake she had been awed by its majestic beauty—the great lake shining in the spring sunlight, a smooth sheet of glass, surrounded by lush meadows and orchards, the whole set in a natural basin created by the soaring wooded hills that rose up to encircle the entire property.

She had fallen in love with it instantly and had gone on loving it with a growing passion ever since.

Twenty-six years ago this year, she thought, I was only eighteen. So long ago, more than half her life ago. And yet it might have been only yesterday, so clear and fresh was the memory in her mind.

She had come to Silver Lake Inn to apply for the job of receptionist, which she had seen advertised in the local paper. The Paulsons, the American family who had brought her with them from Australia as an au pair, were moving to South Africa because of Mr. Paulson's job. She did not want to go there. Nor did she wish to return to her native Australia. Instead, she preferred to stay in America, in Connecticut, to be precise.

It had been the middle of May not long after her birthday, and she had arrived on a borrowed bicycle, looking a bit windswept, to say the least.

Casting her mind back now, she pictured herself as she had been then—tall, skinny, all arms and legs like a young colt. Yet pretty enough in a fresh young way. She had been full of life and vitality, eager to be helpful, eager to please. That was her basic nature and she was a born peacemaker.

Jack and Amelia Silver had taken to her at once, as she had to them. But they had been concerned about her staying in America without the Paulsons, had inquired about her family in Sydney, and what they would think. Once she explained that her parents were dead, they had been sympathetic, sorry that she had lost them so young. And they had understood then that she had no real reason to go back to the Antipodes.

After they had talked on the phone to Mrs. Paulson, they had hired her on the spot.

And so it had begun, an extraordinary relationship that had changed her life.

Meredith straightened in her seat as the inn came into view. Lights blazed in many of the windows, and this was a welcoming sight. She could hardly wait to be inside, to be with Blanche and Pete, surrounded by so many familiar things in that well-loved place.

Within seconds Jonas was pulling up in front of the inn. He had barely braked when the front door flew open and bright light flooded out onto the wide porch.

A moment later Blanche and Pete O'Brien were at the top of the steps, and as Meredith opened the car door, Pete was already halfway down, exclaiming, “Welcome, Meredith, you've certainly made it in good time despite the snow.”

“Hello, Pete,” she said as he enveloped her in a hug. She added, as they drew apart, “There's nobody like Jonas when it comes to driving. He's the best.”

“That he is. Hi, Jonas, good to see you,” Pete said, nodding to the driver, smiling at him. “I'll help you with Mrs. Stratton's bags.”

“Evening, Mr. O'Brien, but I can manage. There's nothing much to carry.”

Meredith left the two men to deal with the bags, and ran up the steps.

“It's good to be back here, Blanche!”

The two women embraced and then Blanche, smiling up at Meredith, led her inside. “And it's good to have you back, Meredith, if only for one night.”

“I wish I could stay longer, but as I explained on the phone, I've got to get back to the city after the meeting at Hilltops tomorrow.”

Blanche nodded. “I think you're going to make a deal with the Morrisons. They're awfully eager to buy an inn, get away from New York, lead a different kind of life.”

“I'm keeping my fingers crossed,” Meredith said, shrugging out of her heavy gray wool cape, throwing it down on a bench.

“I know you'll like them, they're a lovely couple, very sincere, straight as a dye, and quite aside from wanting to start a new business, they love this part of Connecticut.”

“And why not, it's God's own country,” Meredith murmured. She glanced around the entrance hall. “Everything looks wonderful, Blanche, so warm, welcoming.”

Blanche beamed at her. “Thanks, Meredith, you know I love this old place as much as you do. Anyway, you must be starving. I didn't think you'd want a full dinner at this late hour, so I made some smoked salmon sandwiches, and there's fruit and cheese. Oh and I have a hunter's soup bubbling on the stove.”

“The soup sounds great. You make the best, and they're usually a meal in themselves. I'm sure Jonas is hungry after the long drive, so perhaps you'd offer him the soup too, and some sandwiches.”

“I will.”

Pete came in with Meredith's overnight bag and briefcase. “Jonas has gone to park the car,” he explained. “I'll take these upstairs.”

“Thanks, Pete,” Meredith said.

“I've put you in the toile de Jouy suite,” Blanche told her, “because I know how much you like it. Now, do you want a tray up there? Or shall I bring it to the bar parlor?”

“I'll have it down here in the parlor, thanks, Blanche,” Meredith said, peering into the room that opened off the inn's large entrance hall. “I see you have a fire going . . . that's nice. I think I'll make myself a drink. Would you like one, Blanche?”

“Why not. I'll join you in a vodka and tonic. But first let me go and fix a tray for Jonas, I'll be back in a few minutes.” She hurried off in the direction of the kitchen.

Meredith went into the bar parlor, glancing around as she strolled over to the huge stone hearth at the far end of the room. The fire burning brightly, the red carpet, the red velvet sofas and tub chairs covered in red and cream linen, gave the parlor a warm, rosy feeling. This was further enhanced by the red brocade curtains at the leaded windows, the polished mahogany paneled walls, and the red shades on the wall sconces. It was a slightly masculine room in feeling and rather English in overtone; there was a mellowness about it that Meredith had always liked.

The carved mahogany bar was to the left of the fireplace, facing the leaded windows. Meredith went behind it, took two glasses, added ice, and poured a good measure of Stolichnaya Cristal into each one. She smiled to herself when she noticed the small plate of lime wedges next to the ice bucket. Blanche had second-guessed her very accurately. Her old friend had known she would have her drink in here. The bar parlor had always been a favorite spot of hers in the inn, as it was with everyone, because it was so intimate and cozy. And conducive to drinking. Jack had been smart when he had created the bar parlor.

Once she had made the drinks, Meredith went over to the fireplace. She stood with her back to it, enjoying the warmth, sipping her vodka, relaxing as she waited for Blanche, whom she thought had never looked better. If there was a tiny fleck of silver in her bright red hair, she was, nonetheless, as slim as she had been as a girl, and the merry dark-brown eyes were as lively as ever. She's wearing well, Meredith thought, very well indeed.

The two women, who were the same age, had been friends for twenty-four years. Blanche had come to Silver Lake Inn two years after Meredith had taken the job as the receptionist. She had started as a pastry chef in the kitchens, had soon been promoted to chef, since she was an inspired cook. Blanche had enjoyed working in the kitchens until she married Pete, who had always managed the estate for the Silvers, and became pregnant with Billy.

By then Meredith was running the inn, and she offered Blanche the job of assistant manager. Blanche had been delighted to accept the offer at once, glad to be out of the heat, relieved not to lift heavy pots and pans, and thrilled to be able to continue working at the inn.

These days she and Pete ran Silver Lake Inn together and were responsible for its overall management as well as the upkeep of the entire estate. She's been good for this place, Meredith mused. She's as passionate about it as I am, and it shows everywhere, and in everything she does.

Blanche interrupted her musings, walking rapidly into the bar parlor, saying, “By the way, you're not going to believe this, but we're rather busy this coming weekend. All the rooms are taken. And several suites. Unusual for January, I must say, but I'm not complaining.”

“I'm delighted, and in some ways it's not that surprising. A lot of people do like being in the country in the snowy weather, and this place has such a great reputation. Thanks, in no uncertain terms, to you and Pete. I do appreciate all you both do, Blanche.”

“We love the inn, you know that.”

“By the way, Catherine sends her love to you and Pete.”

Blanche smiled. “And give her ours. How is she, Meredith?”

“As wonderful as always, and doing so well with her work; she's turned out to be a fine illustrator. And, of course, she's madly in love.”

“With Keith Pearson?”

Meredith nodded. “She told you?”

“Yes, when you were all here at Thanksgiving.”

“I think it's become rather serious.”

“Are we looking forward to a wedding?” Blanche asked, staring at Meredith quizzically.

“I think so . . . I'm pretty sure.”

“You will have it here, won't you?”

“Where else, Blanche? Cat was born here, grew up here, and so I'm certain she'll want to be married here. And it is the perfect setting.”

“Oh I can't wait to start planning it!” Blanche cried, taking a sip of her drink. “Cheers. And here's to Cat and the wedding.”

“The wedding,” Meredith said, and lifted her glass as Blanche was doing. She wondered if it was bad luck to drink to something so prematurely.

“Marquees.
We'll have to have marquees,” Blanche said, gazing into space, obviously already envisioning the reception.

“But they'll no doubt get married in the summer,” Meredith pointed out.

“Yes, I know. June probably, every girl wants to be a June bride. But it
can
rain up here at that time of year, you know that as well as I do, and it's best to be safe. Oh it'll be great, though. We'll do wonderful flowers and table settings. And a special menu. Oh it's going to be fabulous. Leave it all to me.”

Meredith laughed. “I'm happy to, my darling Blanche.”

“Good.” Blanche sipped her drink, and then suddenly she looked across at Meredith and said, “Do you ever hear from David?”

“David Layton?” Meredith asked, slightly surprised.

“Yes.”

“Rarely. Why do you ask?”

“I thought of him just now . . . have you forgotten that you married him here and that I did the entire wedding?”

“No, I hadn't,” Meredith said slowly, and began to shake her head. “Funny, isn't it, how someone's name is rarely, if ever, mentioned, and then it comes up twice in one day.”

“Who else mentioned David?”

“Catherine. When we were talking on the phone earlier this evening. She asked me if I'd been crazy in love with him, or words to that effect.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told her the truth. I said that I hadn't.”

“Of course not. You were only crazily in love once, and that was with her father.”

Meredith was silent.

“Have you ever wondered what your life would have been like if he hadn't—”

“I really don't want to discuss it,” Meredith snapped, cutting in peremptorily. Then she bit her lip, looking chagrined. “I'm sorry, Blanche, I didn't mean to bite your head off like that, it's just that I prefer to leave that particular subject matter alone tonight. It's been a long day and I don't really feel like delving into the tragedies of the past.”

Blanche smiled gently. “It's my fault. I brought it up and I shouldn't have . . . now you're looking sad . . . I've upset you.”

“No, you haven't, I promise you, Blanche.”

Deeming it wiser to change the subject, Blanche put down her drink and said, “By the way, we're going to have to order new carpet for the toile de Jouy suite, and the blue room. There's been some leaks this winter, and the carpets are damaged. I hate to tell you this, but there's also been a leak in your bedroom in the house. I'll show you tomorrow. I'm afraid you'll have to replace the carpet there as well.”

“These things happen, Blanche, we know that from years of experience. And even after we put in new roofs last year. I'll call Gary at Stark tomorrow, before I go to London. He's got everything on the computer, so it won't be a problem.” Meredith frowned. “The carpets were from the standard lines, weren't they?”