A Fashionable Affair Page 9

  “I don’t know. Probably not until late. I’ll call you.”

  “Okay. And, Michael ... be careful.”

  “Yes, Miss Kitty,” he drawled, and she laughed. He kissed her briefly and then was gone.

  Patsy heaved a huge, tremulous sigh and went to take a shower.

  * * * *

  Most of the shooting crew was at the studio when Patsy arrived. The morning session went smoothly, and it was only when they broke for lunch that Patsy noticed the man standing behind the lights. He came over to her. “Hi, Patsy,” he said amiably. It was Frank Carbone, co-owner of Ebony Lad. Patsy’s heart dropped into her stomach.

  “Hi, Frank,” she answered in natural surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you. Look, Patsy, I have to talk to you.”

  She smiled sunnily. “Great. You can buy me lunch.”

  He smiled back and Patsy thought with uncharacteristic cattiness that he looked like a movie star in a B film. “I’d love to,” he replied, and she left the studio with him, hoping her shaking knees were not obvious.

  They went to a restaurant on the next block. “A drink?” he asked as they sat.

  Patsy never drank while she was on a job, but she thought she could use something at the moment. “I’ll have a glass of white wine,” she answered. She looked around idly, and behind the beautiful mask of her face, her brain was working furiously. How had Frank known where to find her? Her agent never gave out her whereabouts.

  The drinks were served, and Patsy took a long sip of hers. “So, Frank,” she said gaily, “how did you find me?”

  “I called your agent,” he replied absently, and Patsy’s heart thumped. “I have to talk to you, Patsy, about Michael Melville.”

  “About Michael?” She put her drink down to hide her trembling hands.

  “Yeah. He’s not a good guy for you to get mixed up with.”

  Patsy managed a very credible laugh. “Good heavens, Frank,” she said lightly. “Michael and I grew up together. I’ve known him almost since I was born. Whatever can you mean?”

  His handsome face looked suddenly heavy. “I mean you should dump him off your account, Patsy.”

  She let her eyes widen in indignation. “I most certainly will not! And I don’t see what business it is of yours anyway.”

  “It’s my business because I like you, Patsy.” This time there was no mistaking the menace in his voice. “I’d hate to see that pretty face get ruined.”

  He looked like a snake, Patsy thought. A nasty, creepy, cold-eyed snake. She could feel herself grow white under his stare. “Are you threatening me, Frank?” she asked a little shakily.

  “Not threatening, beautiful, advising.” He smiled. “Like I said before, Patsy, I like you.”

  “I’m honored.” She stood up. “Good-bye, Frank,” she said coldly, and turned to leave.

  He stood up quickly and grabbed her arm. She stayed perfectly still, restraining with difficulty a strong urge to scream. “Have you listened to what I’ve been saying?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Her face was stony.

  “And?”

  “And I like Michael much more than I like you, Frank. You or your business associates.” She jerked her arm out of his hold and walked swiftly across the restaurant and out the door.

  * * * *

  The afternoon session did not go smoothly. Patsy was distracted and tense and ended up claiming she was not feeling well. They canceled the session until the following day.

  She went home, searched the apartment for one of the sportswear circulars; and finally found the last one buried under a stack of magazine pictures in her desk drawer. She was looking through it when the phone rang. It was Michael.

  “I’m going to be here until ten, at least,” he told her. “I spent most of the day seeing clients and I’ve got to go through the papers Alice put together to see if they’re okay.”

  “Oh,” Patsy said forlornly. “That means you won’t be home until eleven.”

  His voice sharpened. “What’s the matter, Red? Are you all right?”

  Patsy hesitated and then decided to tell him about Frank later. He might feel he had to come home at once, and much as she would like that, she knew she shouldn’t let him. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just lonely.”

  “Oh.” His voice changed subtly. “Well, I’ll try to remedy that when I get home.”

  “That would be nice.” Her voice was very soft. “I’ll see you later, darling.”

  “See you later.”

  After she had hung up, Patsy resolutely went into the kitchen and fixed herself a dinner she really didn’t want. She then turned on the TV and sat through two situation comedies she didn’t hear. At ten o’clock she ran a hot tub and tried to relax. After putting on a nightgown, she got into bed with a book.

  It was almost eleven-thirty when she heard Michael’s key in the lock. Patsy put her book on the night table and looked up as he came into her bedroom. Miraculously, all her tension disappeared at the sight of him; and her spirits soared. “Well, well, well, Mr. Melville,” she said. “It’s about time.”

  “What a day,” he grunted. “I had to tell one of my clients that he was being systematically ripped off by his warehouse manager. He was not happy.” He took off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of the desk chair.

  “What happened?” Patsy asked curiously.

  “It’s a maintenance supply firm—they sell things like toilet paper, industrial cleaners, boiler additives, stuff like that to commercial buildings and industrial parks. But the manager was also quietly selling a full order of supplies to three local private schools, who didn’t know he was pocketing their payments as a nice tax-free benefit to himself.” He took off his tie and draped it over his jacket.

  Patsy linked her arms around her updrawn knees. “And how did you find this out?”

  “Easy enough. I matched up the supplies actually on hand with the supplies that were supposed to be on hand. There was a noticeable gap between the two.” His shirt had followed his tie by now.

  She rested her chin on her knees. “How did you discover this gap when apparently no one else had?”

  “I went to the warehouse and counted,” Michael said briefly, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking off his shoes.

  Patsy regarded his smoothly muscled back in admiration. “You have the most suspicious mind of anyone I’ve ever met. And the really sad thing is, you’re usually right.”

  “Someone has to be suspicious,” he answered, his voice a little muffled. “If only to protect the generous innocents”—he straightened up and turned around—”like you.”

  She reached up and ran light fingers over his cheekbone. “My knight in shining armor,” she said softly, and his black brows abruptly snapped together and his face hardened.

  “What is this?” he asked sharply, putting his hand on her upper arm.

  Patsy had seen the marks in her bath but had quite forgotten them in the bliss of his arrival. “I had a rather unpleasant encounter with Frank Carbone,” she told him in a carefully neutral voice. “You know, my partner in Ebony Lad.”

  “Did he do this to your arm?”

  She had never seen Michael look this way. “He just held my arm for a minute,” she answered hastily. “It didn’t even hurt. It’s just that my skin bruises so easily.”

  His nostrils flared a bit and then he said quietly, “I think you’d better tell me what happened.”

  “Well, he came to the modeling session,” she began, and proceeded to detail her entire encounter with Frank. When she had finished, Michael called Frank a couple of names that provoked her heartfelt agreement. “I couldn’t agree more,” she said primly, “although I’m too much of a lady to say so myself.”

  He looked at her and his face relaxed a trifle. His eyes were now pure green, “They found they couldn’t scare me off, so they decided to try you.”

  “That’s what I figured,” she replied complacently, and a flicker of
amusement stirred in his cold green eyes. “The thing that really concerns me, Michael,” she went on earnestly, “is, how did Frank know I was shooting for Redman Fashions?” He didn’t reply. “You think this crew is tied up with the sports-clothes contract, too, don’t you? That’s why you’ve been so interested in how they advertised.”

  “Sweetheart,” he said very gently.

  “You must be right,” she said. “How else would Frank have known where to find me? He must be connected with the fashion deal. He must be.”

  “I always said there was nothing wrong with your brain.”

  “The shopping centers too?” she asked hollowly.

  “I don’t know, Red. I’m going to fly to Illinois tomorrow and look at one of these shopping centers for myself.”

  “Oh,” she said dismally. He was going away again.

  He misunderstood her expression. “Patsy, do you want me to just hand this over to Internal Revenue? I really don’t think you’re in any danger, but if you’re afraid, I’ll turn it over tomorrow.”

  “Why do you want to keep on it alone, Michael?” she asked slowly. “I mean, really.”

  He smiled a little crookedly. “Pure egotism, sweetheart. That bastard Garfield slipped out from under once before, and I guess I just don’t trust anyone else to get an airtight case on him this time around.”

  She looked at his thin, concentrated face during a brief moment’s silence, and recognized the dedication there. He really was out to make the world safe for the generous innocents—the ones like his father, whom the barracudas had destroyed. “I’m going to Illinois with you,” she announced firmly.

  “Oh, no,” he began.

  “Oh, yes,” she replied very firmly.

  “Patsy, I have a good friend—an ex-policeman, in fact— and I’m going to get him to come and play bodyguard for you. Just in case, you understand. You’ll be far safer here than you would be with me.”

  Hah, she thought. So he did think he might be in danger. “Whither thou goest, I will go,” she quoted, and smiled. “You can’t dump me, Michael, so don’t even try. That’s my shopping center you’re talking about, remember.”

  He looked down into her upturned face, and his eyes began to turn from green to gold. “I don’t want to dump you, Red,” he said, his voice a little deeper than usual.

  Patsy lay back against her pillows and sighed very sensuously. He leaned over and put his lips to her white throat. She sighed again. “Oh, Michael,” she murmured, and slid caressing hands into his thick black hair.

  Chapter Ten

  Patsy awoke the following morning to find Michael’s arm flung across her shoulders. He was lying on his stomach, still deeply asleep, and she lay still, savoring the warmth and nearness of him. The light in the room was gray and she could hear the sound of rain on the window. The arm pinning her to the bed shifted and she turned her head on the pillow. “Good morning, darling,” she said softly.

  “Mmm.” The long lashes lifted. “That’s a nice sound to wake up to.” He stirred and then sat up. “What time is it?”

  She lay back on her pillow and watched him. “I don’t know.”

  He grunted, leaned across her, and turned the bedside clock toward him. It was six-forty-five. He yawned and slid back down. “This is a damned small bed,” he said.

  Patsy settled herself comfortably into the curve of his arm. “It’s the bed of my girlhood,” she informed him. “It’s bigger than a twin—Mother always called it a three-quarter bed.”

  “Well, it sure is cozy.”

  “Are you complaining?”

  He chuckled. “No.”

  “I never noticed that it was small. But then, I’ve never shared it before. It’s plenty big enough for one.”

  He didn’t say anything, and she sighed. She was afraid to presume too much with him, afraid to attribute more to this affair than he. But she wanted him to know, at least a little, what it meant to her. And what she had said was true: none of her boyfriends had ever shared this bed with her. She had always attributed her reluctance to the ghost of her mother, but she realized now that it had been more than that. She sighed again.

  “You sound very melancholy,” he murmured near her ear.

  “Do I? I suppose it’s the weather.”

  He tightened his arm around her and she smiled. “What time do we leave for Illinois?”

  “Not until this afternoon. I have to go to the office this morning. Do you want to come with me?”

  “Do you want me hanging around your office all morning?” she countered.

  “That way I won’t have to drive back into the city to pick you up.”

  “I might have known it was something like that,” she said without rancor. “We’ll compromise. You can drop me at Sally’s for the morning.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s get moving, then.”

  She didn’t stir.

  His hand was slowly moving up and down her arm. “I have a few clients to see this morning.”

  “Mmm.”

  He moved away from her a little and propped himself on the arm that had been holding her close. “Circe,” he murmured in a deep, slow voice.

  The pillow was soft under her head, the sheets warm from the heat of their bodies. Her nightgown lay in a heap beside the bed, where he had thrown it the night before. He pulled the covers down to her waist, baring her to the cool morning air.

  “Michael!” she protested, half-laughing. Then his two warm hands covered her breasts, and he bent to kiss her. She quivered under his touch, warm and yielding and sweet as honey.

  “Christ,” he said. “Patsy.”

  And she reached up to pull him closer.

  * * * *

  They started later than Michael had planned, but he didn’t complain. He dropped Patsy at Sally’s and said he’d be back at about two. With his sister looking, Michael didn’t kiss Patsy, but waved a casual farewell to them both as he reversed out of the driveway and turned down the street.

  “Brr,” remarked Sally, who was wearing jeans and a knit shirt, “it’s chilly this morning. Come on in.”

  Patsy followed her into the kitchen, picked Matthew out of his walker, and sat with the baby on her lap.

  “He’s a real Melville, this one,” she said to Sally as she regarded her godchild appraisingly. “He already looks smart.”

  Sally grinned. “We have some pictures of Michael at that age and you’d swear they were pictures of Matthew.”

  “I’ll bet,” Patsy murmured, feeling a pang of envy. How she would love to have a baby who looked like Michael. She kissed the downy head of Michael’s nephew and let him play with the gold chain around her neck.

  “Michael said something about you and he going to Illinois,” Sally remarked from the stove, where she was putting on coffee.

  “Yes. We’re going to check out one of those shopping centers Fred was always buying for me.” The baby lost interest in her chain and grabbed for an enticing red-gold curl. “I have a ghastly feeling Michael doesn’t think it exists.”

  “Oh, dear,” Sally said. “I hate to tell you this, Patsy, but my brother has the most depressing habit of being right.”

  “Ow!” Patsy said, and removed Matthew’s fingers from her hair.

  Sally returned to the table. “Anyway, why are you going?” she asked curiously. “I shouldn’t have thought Illinois was at all your thing.”

  Patsy wondered briefly whether or not to tell Sally that it wasn’t Illinois but Michael who was her thing, and while she hesitated, the phone rang.

  Sally picked it up. “Hello,” she said impersonally, then, “Oh, hi, Jane.” There was a long pause. “I know. Couldn’t you just murder them?” Sally’s voice dripped sympathy. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here all morning. There’s no rush.” Pause. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

  Sally hung up and came back to Patsy. “That was Jane Nagle, a friend of mine. She’s coming over this morning, but she’s been detained—
her son flushed something down the toilet and stopped it all up. She’s waiting for the plumber.”

  Patsy laughed. “Oh, dear.”

  “Kids,” Sally said feelingly.

  “How old is her son?”

  “Brian—the toilet stuffer—is Steven’s age. She has another son who’s in school and a daughter Matthew’s age. She lives right here in town and the children play well together, so we get together once a week or so.”

  The coffee stopped perking and Sally poured two cups. Patsy put a reluctant Matthew back in his walker and stirred milk into the cup Sally put in front of her. “Where is Steven?” she asked. “The house seems awfully quiet.”

  “Sesame Street,” Sally answered succinctly.

  “I just adore that show,” Patsy confessed. “I’ll have to go watch it with him.”

  Sally grinned. “The last time you were here Steven informed me that Aunt Patsy really wasn’t a grown-up at all. You play just like a kid, he said.”

  Patsy wrinkled her nose ruefully. “I’m sure he meant it as a compliment.”

  “It’s part of your charm,” Sally assured her. Then, changing the subject, “When did Michael say he’d be back?”

  “Around two.”

  “That’s okay, then. Jane should be gone by then. She has to be back before Justin gets home from school.”

  “Er, is there any particular reason you don’t want Michael and Jane to meet?” Patsy asked.

  “Yes. You see, Jane Nagle used to be Jane Anderson.”

  “Oh?” said Patsy blankly.

  “You probably wouldn’t remember, but Jane Anderson was Michael’s college girlfriend. That’s how I met her. She and Michael went together for the four years he was in school. Steve and I were sure they were going to get married when they graduated.”

  “I see,” Patsy said slowly. “What happened?”

  ‘I don’t really know.” Sally put her elbows on the table. “I mean, they were inseparable for four years, and then all of a sudden Jane turned around and married Larry Nagle. It really threw me. And I have a feeling it threw Michael too.”

  “Do you think so?” Patsy asked hollowly.

  “Yes. He’s never been serious about a girl since. They always seem to be just—-just—”