A Fashionable Affair (3 page)

“Was that your Volvo wagon I saw in the parking
lot yesterday?”

“Yes.”

The elevator door opened and they started down
the’ corridor. “A station wagon,” he said with
amusement in his deep, pleasant voice. “Not at all
the sort of car one would expect to see New York’s
top photographic model driving.”

“It’s built like a tank,” Patsy said. “New York’s top
photographic model is more interested in protec
tion than in style, thank you.”

“Smart girl,” he said. “Here we are.” He fitted the
key into the lock and they entered Fred’s office.

An hour later Michael was sitting at Fred’s desk
with a pile of folders in front of him. Patsy, who was
finding the whole process extremely boring, was
prowling around the office.

“Sit down, Red,” Michael said absently. “You’re
making me nervous.”

Red. She had forgotten that. He was the only one she had ever allowed to call her by that name. She
crossed the room and sat across the desk from him,
her eyes on his preoccupied face. He had always
had the most fabulous lashes, she remembered. She
and Sally had been wild with jealousy when they
were younger. “I mean, what good are they on a
boy?” Sally used to say.

“Patsy.
Are you awake?” There was a distinct note
of irritation in Michael’s voice, and she opened her
brown eyes wide.

“I’m sorry, I was daydreaming. What did you
say?”

“I asked you about this line of sportswear you’re
endorsing. I’ve never heard of the company.”

“Redman Fashions,” she answered readily. “I
know they’re not Sears, but the clothes have really
been very successful.”

“I see that.” There was a thin deep line between
his eyes. He was looking at the paper in front of
him. “You made over a million from them last
year.”

She smiled. “You see.”

He looked from the paper to her. “I’ve never
seen them in the stores,” he said.

“Neither have I, actually. But Fred said they were
very popular in the smaller Midwest department
stores.”

“I see.” Michael’s voice was undramatic and his
face unreadable. “Have you ever seen any of these
shopping centers Fred invested in?”

“No, of course not. They’re all somewhere in the
Midwest.”

Michael’s brows rose and he looked at her in
momentary silence.

Patsy gave him a charming, rueful look. “Oh,
dear, I don’t mean to sound like an ugly New
Yorker.”

“No one will ever call you an ugly anything, sweetheart,” he said, returning his attention to her
papers.

Patsy found herself thrown a bit off balance. She
frowned and studied his absorbed face, trying to figure out what was so different about him.

He was older, of course, but that wasn’t it. There was an authoritative air about him that the boy had not had, a quality of quiet power. She looked at the
thin dark face.

The long lashes lifted. “Everything seems to be in
order, but I’m going to have to do some checking,”
he said. “Is it all right if I take your files back to my own office?”

“Of course it’s all right.” She looked at the files heaped on the desk. “You’re never going to get all
that home on the train.”

“I’m planning,” he explained calmly, “to borrow
your car.”

“Oh, are you?”

“Yes.” He stood up. “Come on, we’ll go back to your apartment and collect it. I’ll drive it back in for
you tomorrow morning.”

Patsy followed him to the door. It occurred to her
that she had been hopping to his orders since yes
terday afternoon. “Fortunately, I don’t need the
car tonight,” she said a trifle acidly.

“Fortunately,” he agreed with perfect compo
sure, and held the door open for her.

They took a taxi to Patsy’s apartment. It was rush
hour and the streets were clogged with traffic.

“You don’t want to drive in this madhouse,” Patsy
said as they got out of the cab. “Why don’t you let
me fix you some dinner and you can leave when
things have calmed down.”

“Great,” he said instantly.

Patsy laughed. “Don’t let me twist your arm.”

He grinned. “Six months out of New York and
I’m reverting to being a hick. This traffic gives me
the willies.”

Patsy felt a stab of irritation. She was not accus
tomed to men regarding her as a mere refuge from
rush-hour traffic.

“You’re sure I’m not keeping you from another
engagement?” he asked as they walked toward her
front door.

As a matter of fact, Patsy was planning to cancel
her date as soon as she could get to the phone.
“Nothing important,” she said airily. “Lucky for
you I’ve got a steak in the freezer.”

“Lucky for me,” he repeated amiably, following
her into the lobby.

She left Michael fixing drinks in the kitchen and
went into her bedroom to make her call.

“Hi, Don,” she said to the man on the other end
of the wire. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to break our date tonight.” She listened for a few minutes, her eyes fixed on a favorite landscape hanging on
the pale golden bedroom wall. “I know,” she said at last. “And I’m terribly, terribly sorry. But the IRS is
going to audit me, and I have to huddle with my
accountant. It’s all too dreadful, Don. Fred died last
night. He had another heart attack.” She listened
again, her foot tapping lightly on the thick beige
carpet. “Yes,” she said, “I know. I’ll call you when
things straighten out a bit. Yes. I know you do,
Don. All right. Good-bye.” Patsy hung up briskly
and went into the kitchen.

Michael had taken off his suit jacket and hung it
over the back of a kitchen chair. In his shirt sleeves he looked much stronger than one would have sup
posed. Patsy, however, was not surprised. “Why
don’t you take off your tie too?” she said. She
picked up her drink and took a sip while he did as
she suggested. “Do you remember the time you
beat up Dean Walters?” she asked unexpectedly.

He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and
looked at her in surprise. “Dean Walters?” he
repeated. “Your old boyfriend?”

“The same.”

“Yeah. Whatever brought that to your mind?”

“Seeing you in your shirt sleeves,” Patsy replied
with disconcerting candor.

He looked startled at first, and then began to
smile. “Dean Walters was a swine,” he said, taking a
long sip of his drink.

“He was,” Patsy agreed cordially. “And he wasn’t
my boyfriend for very long.”

“True.” He looked at her out of inscrutable hazel
eyes. “You never could bear anyone who wasn’t kind.”

“It doesn’t take a great deal of effort to be pleas
ant,” Patsy said lightly. She took the steak out of the
freezer and put it on a countertop. Michael was
looking around the kitchen.

“Do you have a view of the park from here?” he
asked.

“Yes. From both the living room and the bed
room. Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the apart
ment.”

The drapes in the living room were open and the
big, high-ceilinged room was filled with natural
light. It was a comfortable room, with bookcases,
plants, and chintz-covered furniture. Michael
walked around the room, his thoughtful gaze taking in the good but certainly not fabulously expensive furniture. Just as Patsy was starting to get her
back up, he turned to her and smiled. “It’s a great
room,” he said. “I like it very much.”

Immediately disarmed, she smiled back. “The
rest of the apartment will probably look very famil
iar. When Mother and Daddy moved to Arizona, I
inherited all the furniture they didn’t want. Here’s
the dining room.” And the dining room was indeed
furnished with the Hitchcock set Michael remem
bered from her parents’ home. “I’ve got my old
maple bedroom set, too,” Patsy informed him.

“And the twin beds from the spare room. Mother
didn’t want another big house, she said.”

They were in the living room again and she gestured for him to sit down. He chose a club chair and
Patsy subsided on the sofa, kicking off her shoes
and pulling her legs up under her. Her red hair
floated around her shoulders, glinting with copper
and gold highlights. Her body was relaxed and
unstudiedly graceful against the cushions, her flawless face clear in the afternoon light. She sipped her
drink and gazed at him.

She had never had any vanity, he thought suddenly. She was so beautiful that she didn’t need it.

“How are your parents?” he asked, revolving his glass in his hands.

“Pretty good. The move to Arizona was a good
idea. Mother’s arthritis is definitely better.”

“Do you miss them?”

Patsy made a face. “I do. Isn’t it silly? I haven’t
lived at home for years and during the week I never
think about them, but come Sunday afternoon and
it hits me that there’s no mother to make me leg of
lamb and mashed potatoes. I visit when I can, of
course, but it isn’t the same.”

“No,” he agreed. “That’s one of the reasons Sally and Steve came back East, I think. Steve’s parents
aren’t getting any younger, and Sally’s only family is me.” He smiled faintly. “And you,” he added.

Patsy met his eyes and felt an odd little flutter in
her stomach. “I’m glad she’s back,” she replied. “I
missed her. I have other friends, of course, but
there’s no one like Sally.” She laughed and tried to
recover her balance. “When I think of my phone
bills!”

He didn’t say anything but continued to regard her, that faint smile still on his face. In order to
cover her confusion, Patsy stood up. “Well, if we’re
going to eat, I’d better get to work.”

He stood up as well. “I’ll make a salad if you
want.”

“Great,” Patsy said.

They prepared and ate the meal together in com
fortable conversation, and by the time Patsy got up
to make coffee, she felt as if she had the old Michael
back.

“Did I tell you that Fred knew who you were?” she asked, stirring milk into her coffee.

He looked at her, his hazel eyes intent and nar
row. “No,” she said. “You didn’t tell me.”

“When I told him you used to be with the Justice
Department. He said, ‘Oh,
that
Melville.”

“I see,” Michael murmured.

“He must have heard about you catching that
organized-crime bigshot on tax evasion.”

“He must have,” he agreed. His eyes were half-
veiled by his lashes. “I’m surprised
you
knew about
it,” he said.

“Oh, I followed the whole thing in the papers.
Sally told me you were the one who caught him.”

“Yes. But my name never appeared in the papers.”

“I know. But I knew, from Sally, who they were
referring to when they spoke of the ‘young Justice
Department accountant,’ you see.”

“I see how
you
knew,” he pointed out. “What I
don’t see is how Fred knew.”

“Oh,” Patsy said blankly. “Well, maybe he knew
you from something else.”

“Maybe,” he replied blandly as he rose from the
chair. “Everything was delicious, Patsy, but I’d bet
ter get going. I have to collect the stuff at the office first. Do you have the car keys?”

Patsy obediently went to fetch the keys and then took him to the garage. “Will you be home tomor
row morning for me to return it?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“Fine, I’ll see you then.” He opened the car door
and got in. Patsy stepped back and watched as
Michael competently backed the Volvo out of its
space and proceeded up the ramp and out of the
garage.

“Yes, sir,” she said out loud, half in amusement
and half in annoyance. Then she turned and went
back upstairs.