Читать книгу An Unlikely Match - Arlene James, Arlene James - Страница 9

Shifting in her customary seat on the antique settee, Odelia stifled a sigh. The room seemed strangely vacant now that Kent had excused himself. He’d stayed only long enough to be polite after Asher had gone, but then, Kent never lingered in her presence for a moment longer than necessary. She couldn’t blame him.

Who would have imagined that her former fiancé would one day take sanctuary here at Chatam House? Odelia certainly would not have, not after what she’d done to him. Perhaps time had diminished the hurt she’d dealt him, but she was only too glad to provide him a kindness now or anytime. When Dallas had first explained the situation nearly two weeks ago, the first reaction of Odelia’s sisters had been to gently refuse, but Odelia herself had argued fiercely that God had His reasons for bringing the Monroes to their doorstep, and she still believed that. She just hadn’t counted on how having Kent in the house would affect her.

How could it be that after all these years, some small vestige of her original feelings for the man would still be rattling around inside this old heart of hers? Now, she longed continually for his company and, though he avoided her, dreaded the day when the Monroes would move back into their house. Why, oh, why had Hypatia and Magnolia insisted on calling in Asher? Their nephew was bound to get to the bottom of things and come to terms with the insurance company in short order, and then, before she knew it, Kent would be gone again. Well, perhaps it was for the best at that.

Blanching, she looked down at her hands, ringed fingers twining together anxiously. Once, she had wanted very much to marry Kent Monroe, and had nearly done so. Only at the last moment had she realized that she could never be happy living apart from her dear sisters. But when she had suggested to Kent that they live with her family, he hadn’t taken it very well, claiming that a “real man” would make his own home. She had understood that perfectly, but it had still hurt.

The aftermath of the breakup had been quite difficult for her, but she had never regretted her decision not to marry. Kent had truly been the only man who had ever tempted her to do so. When Kent had married Deirdre Billups, Odelia had put away her secret longings, and she had been more than content over the years. She had actually been quite happy and genuinely glad for Kent and Deirdre when, after years of marriage, their son had been born. Likewise, she had grieved for Kent and Deirdre when their son had died in an accident at the age of forty-one and then again, over a decade ago now, for Kent when Deirdre had succumbed to an aneurysm.

Since that time, she and Kent had gradually renewed their friendship, always keeping a polite distance. She had found that arrangement very satisfactory and had imagined that they would end their lives as casual friends with their shared past unremarked but unforgotten, at least between the two of them. Instead, in thirteen short days she had somehow reverted to her old foolish self, longing for the kind of relationship that she had long since determined was not for her. How could she, at her age, feel such nonsensical, girlish emotions? She was simply astounded.

“Dearest, are you all right?” Hypatia asked, calling Odelia from her reverie.

Odelia looked up, glancing from one sister to the other. Both watched her with concern etched upon their faces.

“Who, me?”

“Certainly she means you,” Magnolia said with a snort. “Who else? I certainly wasn’t engaged to Kent Monroe.”

Odelia forced herself to laugh brightly, hoping that it didn’t sound as stilted as she feared. “I’m fine! Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not our house that caught fire.”

“You just seem…not yourself lately,” Hypatia observed gently.

“Not yourself,” Magnolia agreed.

“If having Kent Monroe here is disturbing to you—” Hypatia began.

“It could be dyspepsia,” Magnolia pointed out brusquely. “You remember how Mother suffered with dyspepsia. It put her all out of sorts.”

“—we could always offer to put them up in a hotel,” Hypatia went on, sending Magnolia a speaking glance.

“I’m not dyspeptic!” Odelia insisted, turning on Magnolia. “I’ve never had digestive difficulties in my life.” As her waistline must surely demonstrate, she thought morosely.

“Well, of all of us, you’re most like Mother,” Magnolia argued defensively.

Plump, she means, Odelia thought. Perhaps she ought to pay a bit more attention to what she ate, she decided, mumbling, “My digestion is fine.”

“It’s certainly not unrequited love,” Magnolia commented, chuckling. “Not at our age.”

Odelia frowned and batted her eyelashes against a sudden welling of tears. She might be past the age of romance, but surely she should not be past the age of caring about her weight, if only as a matter of health. Abruptly, she wondered what Kent thought about her rounded figure. He had once declared her the very model of slender femininity, but what did he think now? Had age and indulgence robbed her of all appeal?

Closing her eyes, she told herself not to bring Kent into this, not even mentally. Obviously, to her shame, she needed to pray much more diligently about her personal lapses, and so she would. Meanwhile, she’d be boiled and peeled before she’d give in to this nonsensical emotional confusion.

Mentally centering herself, she heard Hypatia say, “I understand that new hotel out on the highway is quite comfortable and even offers kitchenettes. If we phrased it delicately and prepaid, say, a month’s rent, I doubt that either Kent or Ellie would take offense. We could always—”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Hypatia!” Odelia snapped, popping open her eyes. “There is no polite way to turn someone out of your home when you have already offered them shelter and have more than ample accommodations for them.”

Horrified at this uncharacteristic harshness, Hypatia drew back, her eyes wide.

Beside Odelia on the settee, Magnolia drawled, “I think she should see a doctor.”

Embarrassed, Odelia considered placating her sisters by agreeing, but then she thought of Brooks Leland, the family physician, and knew that he was far too astute not to see that her problem was emotional and spiritual rather than physical.

Fighting for an even, melodic tone, she said, “I don’t need a doctor. I just need…” she looked to the windows at the front of the long, rectangular room “…sunshine.” Rising to her feet, she continued, “I need sunshine. And fresh air. Spring. I’m so very tired of winter. I need a dose of spring.” Making a beeline for the foyer, she decided that she would take an overcoat from the cloakroom and let herself out the sunroom door. “If you need me, I’ll be in the greenhouse,” she told her sisters. Praying, she added silently.

Perhaps then she could put aside these ridiculous longings and dreams, for such foolishness should be the purview of the young. What need had she of love at this late date, after all? It wasn’t as if they had time for children or growing old together. They were already old, she and Kent.

Too old.

Nothing promised such new possibilities as a Monday morning. At least, Ellie had always thought so. She loved the early-morning tranquility and neatness of her classroom, the moment of sublime peace before the children began to arrive, bringing their happy chaos with them, but Monday mornings were the best. As such, they always seemed ripe for prayer, but especially this particular Monday morning.

She’d mulled the problem of Asher Chatam all weekend without finding a solution, and now, as she read over her morning’s devotional, she wondered why she had not simply taken the matter to God. As the author of the devotional reminded her, God knew everything to be known about the whole situation anyway, even more than she did. He was just waiting for her to ask Him for the solution. Really, she could be so foolish sometimes. It was a wonder, a testament to God’s patience, that He didn’t drop stones out of Heaven onto her head at such moments.

Spreading her hands over the pages of her devotional book, she closed her eyes and began as she always did, whispering the words in her mind.

Holy Father, make me Your instrument this day. Help me to love and teach my students, to see and meet their needs as You would have me do. And, Lord, please show me how to deal with this mess I’ve gotten myself into. My grandfather deserves to be happy, really happy. He is the very soul of cheerful forbearance, as You know, and I know that Odelia would make him happy. I’m as convinced of it as Dallas is, only I would never have…

She bit her lip, unwilling even to put into words what she feared. It wasn’t as if she had any proof, after all. Besides, who was she to judge? And if Dallas had done something foolish to bring her aunt and Ellie’s grandfather together, well, what sense did it make to waste an opportunity like this? Just because she wouldn’t have done what she feared Dallas had done didn’t mean that God couldn’t use the situation for good. Did it?

If only the Chatam sisters hadn’t brought Asher into it! He could be a tad severe, and Dallas had always painted him as somewhat stodgy, but even she admitted that he was a very fine attorney, extremely intelligent and he could be trusted implicitly. Sadly, while Ellie admired those traits, they meant that he was bound to have the insurance company settling up in no time. Or worse yet, he might discover the truth of the fire—whatever that was—and then where would they be?

Would the insurance company even pay if the fire had been deliberately set? And what would happen to her dearest friend if… She turned off that line of thought, concentrating instead on her grandfather’s happiness.

Please, Lord, couldn’t You intercede here, just delay things a bit, maybe? I mean, Ash is bound to be busy. He has that prosperous look about him that busy attorneys who make lots of money often—

Her thoughts came to an abrupt stop. Money. That was the answer! All she had to do was tell Ash that she and her grandfather could not afford to pay him. Surely, that would put the brakes on things.

“Thank You,” she said brightly.

“For what?” asked a child’s voice.

Ellie’s eyes popped open. Her gently arched brows shot upward as she took in the two former pupils who stood with their bellies pressed to the front of her desk. Students often did that, especially when they wanted something. One of their mothers, a woman by the name of Ilene Riddle, stood behind them at a short distance.

“Hello,” Ellie said.

“Hello, Miss Monroe,” the two girls replied in sync.

“We didn’t want to disturb you,” put in the mother, moving forward a step. “You seemed to be meditating.”

An attractive platinum blonde with white-tipped nails and dark eye makeup, she had just been divorced for the second time when her daughter, Angie, had entered Ellie’s kindergarten class about a year ago now. Angie and Shawna, the second girl, had quickly become best friends and apparently still were. Ellie noticed that in contrast to her mother’s neat stylishness, Angie still looked as if she’d slept in her clothes, her short, dark blond hair sticking out at odd angles.

“I like to start my day with a prayer,” Ellie said, smiling. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Please, Miss Monroe,” Shawna pleaded, tilting her dark, sleek head, “we don’t get a coach, and we ’membered that you can play.”

“You played with us all those times at recess,” Angie put in eagerly.

“Play?” Ellie echoed, puzzled. “Play what?”

“Soccer,” Ms. Riddle clarified. “The girls have signed up for the spring soccer season, but there aren’t enough coaches to go around. Unless we can find someone to help out, the girls won’t get to play.”

“Oh, dear,” Ellie said, rising to her feet, her hands still planted atop the book on her desk.

“I’ve volunteered as team mother,” Ilene went on, “but I know nothing at all about the sport. I mean, I can organize everything, but I just don’t have any of the skills needed to teach the kids about the game, and the commissioner is apparently pretty strict about who is allowed to coach. We thought—hoped—you might be willing to help us.”

Ellie stood speechless for a moment. She had never coached a sport in her life, but she did know the game, having played all through high school. Straightening, she folded her arms thoughtfully, one forefinger tapping her rounded chin.

“How many kids would I work with?”

“Nine is the minimum,” Ilene answered. “We actually have seven right now and could use a few more. Twelve is the max at this age.”

Twelve at most. Ellie looked around the room. She routinely corralled twenty-two in this small space and flattered herself that she actually taught them something worthwhile in the process. Twelve kids on an open field would be a piece of cake by comparison.

“How much time are we talking about?”

“It’s nine games and twenty practices in ten weeks, so roughly twenty-five hours.”

That was little more than a full day in total, spread out over more than two months. Besides, she’d always enjoyed soccer and could use the exercise. And hadn’t she just asked God to show her the needs of her pupils and how to meet them?

“Sounds like fun,” she decided. “Count me in.”

The girls hurrahed, bouncing up and down on their toes. Ilene Riddle reached past them to clasp Ellie’s hands with hers, silver bracelets jangling.

“Thank you so much. I’ll help every way I can, I promise. First practice is Wednesday afternoon at five-fifteen. Do you know where the field is?”

“I think so. Across the creek from the park, right?”

“Right. I’ll bring all the supplies. You just bring the expertise.”

“Deal,” Ellie said, smiling broadly.

As the trio took their leave, Ellie dropped down onto her desk chair once more. Well, it looked like she had her work cut out for her, starting tomorrow afternoon. She’d have to brush up on coaching tactics this evening. Thankfully, with all the information online, that shouldn’t be too difficult. She’d see to it tonight.

That left this afternoon to convince Asher Chatam to drop her grandfather’s case and turn his attention elsewhere.

Ellie smiled. Mondays really were her favorite day of the week.

Dropping the telephone receiver into its cradle, Asher stared at the leather-trimmed blotter on his desk. He hated Mondays. Just once, he wanted to get through a Monday without some unpleasant surprise. What, he wondered, had the aunties—and, by extension, he—gotten into? So much for settling this “routine” insurance matter and getting on with his life.

Unanswered questions about the fire at the Monroe house abounded, and Ellie Monroe had apparently done everything in her power to make certain that they remained that way. According to the adjuster, Ellie’s cell phone number was the only contact information that the company now had, and she’d come up with every excuse imaginable to prevent the adjuster from speaking with her grandfather. Most troubling of all, the Monroes had recently increased their coverage and moved their most precious belongings into storage. The adjuster had even hinted at a financial incentive. Something smelled, and it wasn’t smoke.

Asher was making notes on his computer when his secretary buzzed him. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he hit the intercom button.

“You heading home, Barb?” A fifty-something grandmother raising a grandson, Barbara was adamant about leaving the office by five.

“In a minute. There’s an Ellen Monroe here. She says it’s important that she see you but promises she’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

Asher sat back in his chair. Well, well. Ventured right into the lion’s den, had she? Reaching forward, he shut down the computer and monitor.

“Send her in. Then get out of here and have a good evening.”

“Will do. See you tomorrow.”

He tightened the knot in his gold-striped tie, spun his tan leather chair to face the door and waited, hands folded. As the sound of footsteps on the polished oak floor in the hallway grew louder, Asher’s heartbeat sped up. He told himself that it was his normal reaction, the old fire-in-the-belly response to a challenge. The instant Ellie appeared in the doorway, however, he knew that he was kidding himself.

Wearing a dark purple pantsuit over a rose-pink blouse, she looked absolutely lovely. She also looked distinctly uncomfortable. Intending to use that discomfort to his advantage, he found a smile and rose.

“Just who I wanted to see.”

“Oh?” she said in surprise, her face lighting.

Nodding, he waved her over then watched as she folded down neatly into one of the chairs before his desk. She tucked a small handbag into the space beside her.

“Why did you want to see me?” she asked.

Sitting, he regarded her steadily. “Tell me why you’re here fir—”

“You should know that we can’t pay you,” she blurted, suddenly looking hopeful and somber at the same time.

Asher paused, concerned. He didn’t like to think it, but this information could support the idea that the Monroes had a financial motive for setting fire to their house.

She sighed, gulped and sucked in a deep breath, all telltale signs of a less-than-truthful client. Which, he reminded himself, she technically was not; rather, her grandfather was his client.

“Even with the insurance money,” she said, “I can’t imagine how we’ll pay for the repairs to the house. Granddad had already sunk every penny of his savings into the renovations before the fire. I don’t know what we’ll do now.” She went on to list numerous expenses that must evidently come before his fee.

It might be true that the Monroes were strapped for cash, but he knew a convenient dodge when he saw one, and his curiosity was now piqued. Ellie Monroe was actively attempting to derail the insurance settlement, and he meant to find out why.

“My aunts have essentially asked this of me,” he told her mildly, “and when I work for family I never take—”

“But we’re not family,” Ellie protested, “and you can’t go around working for nothing! It wouldn’t be fair. You have your own bills to pay, after all. I understand that.” She bowed her head, the very picture of stoic acceptance. He didn’t buy it for an instant.

Frowning, Asher leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the edge of his desk. “There’s no need for you to worry about my bills, Ellie.”

“So you’re going to do this pro bono?” she demanded, sounding miffed. “Isn’t that for charities and such?”

“Not necessarily.”

While she sputtered about fairness and good faith and half a dozen other things he didn’t follow, he mulled his options. He could throw her out—she wasn’t his client and therefore had no say in his employment. On the other hand, her reasons for derailing the settlement could range from merely misguided to serious malfeasance. And, because she was not his client, he had no way to protect her in either case. He decided he would do his best to keep her out of trouble. She was his sister’s friend and a tenant at Chatam House, which meant that he had represented her as well as her grandfather.

His decision made, he pulled open a side drawer, took out a receipt pad and flipped it open. “If it will make you feel better,” he interrupted, “then by all means, pay me.”

“But I just told you that—”

“How much cash do you have on you?”

For a long moment, she said nothing. Asher sat back in his chair, enjoying the moment. For once, he had reduced Ellie Monroe to speechlessness.

“What?” she finally squawked.

“How much cash do you have on you?” he repeated slowly.

Frowning, she pulled her purse into her lap. “Seven or eight dollars, maybe.”

“Let’s make it a buck, then,” he said, leaning forward to scribble out the receipt. “No, two. One for you, one for your grandfather.” He made certain to write both of their names on the correct line. After tearing the receipt out of the book, he tossed the pad back into the drawer and nudged it closed.

“You can’t mean to represent us for two dollars.”

“It’s that or nothing,” he retorted with a shrug. “You’re the one who wanted to pay me. Call it a retainer, if it makes you feel better.”

Frowning, she reluctantly laid two crumpled dollar bills on the desk. He swiftly traded the receipt for them and slipped them into his shirt pocket. “That takes care of that.”

She made a face. “Look, even if your aunts did drag you into this, I don’t expect you to knock yourself out settling our little insurance claim, not for two bucks.”

He smiled. “I have a question for you.” He folded his arms atop his desk blotter. “Why are you trying to get me off this case?”

Shock flashed across her face, followed swiftly by guilt. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

“Tell me what you’re hiding.”

“What makes you think I’m h-hiding something?” she hedged, averting her gaze.

“This isn’t my first day on the job,” he pointed out, hardening himself against those suddenly woeful eyes. “And you’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying!”

“You’re stalling the insurance company,” he accused in his most lawyerly voice. “Why?”

Biting her lip, she shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

“I’m trying to, because I can’t help you if I don’t know why you’re doing this!” He leaned toward her. “Is it your goal to remain at Chatam House indefinitely?”

She broke, blurting, “I only want my grandfather and your aunt to have a chance to get together!” She quickly clapped her hand over her mouth.

“I knew it!” Asher cried, smacking a hand against the desktop. The lawyer in him crowed, even while the annoyed nephew was exasperated.

But Asher Chatam, who had known Ellie for quite some time, was worried.

He now had at least a part of the truth.

He wasn’t at all sure, though, that he wanted the rest of it. Because he wasn’t sure that he could protect her—not if her foolishness was as great as he feared.