The Ghost and Miss Demure (15 page)

She heard the heavy tread of his feet as he made his escape. Finishing her shower, she checked the
bedroom carefully before she ventured out in her towel. Her clothes were still soaking in the sink, though her first impulse had been to throw them in the trash.

Karo was once again struck by the architecture. The builders of this estate had clearly not been the kind of people for whom wealth was an abstract concept. The house aside—and that was a vast aside, since the mansion was an end to end example of conspicuous consumption in a rather more erotic vein than the norm—most of the furnishings, being Euro pe an, were better pedigreed and at least as well traveled as she. Of course, their passage across the sea had probably involved a good deal more danger than any she had ever made. Karo could only hope to someday be as well dressed as the windows in her bedroom—albeit a little less colorfully. In the meantime, she was fortunate not to be allergic to rare woods, priceless antiques and gilt.

“So, where are you taking me?” Karo asked as the BMW whipped along the lane. She smoothed her uncrushable skirt and thanked the technologists who’d invented Lycra. She had spent an idiotic amount of time deciding whether or not to wear it. The decision might have taken longer, since she was uncharacteristically dithery that evening, but she was
really
hungry. The taupe dress had been wadded into the back corner of her suitcase, and it was the only thing she had that could be described by adjectives like “feminine” or “pretty.” Finished off with a brass and bead belt, she felt quite ethnic and sophisticated.

Gold eyes turned her way. They were still smiling, smug at getting away with his prank. Obviously it took more than a cold shower to squelch his spirits. She felt pleased he wasn’t a creep.

“I warn you now that ‘artistic vegetables’ are out,” he told her. “We are not in Williamstown.”

“I am not in the mood for ‘artistic.’ Just a small salad,” she told him. “Then cow or pig—or fowl, if it’s in large quantity, as you once said—some heavy starch and a bit of wine. Perhaps some fruit and cheese.”

“I’m not fussy, and frankly I haven’t the faintest idea where one would go to find artistic around here. This isn’t exactly California Cuisine country.”

“You’re prejudiced, having been raised on mushy peas and overcooked Brussels sprouts.” Karo looked at the bare birches whipping by alongside. They didn’t lay so much as a dirty leaf on the perfect paint job. She had offered to drive, but Tristam had shuddered. She couldn’t blame him. Her car was a mess, and her father was correct that at the very least it needed an oil change. She couldn’t actually recall the last time she had taken it in for a tune-up.

“That’s probably true. I rather avoid the entire
brassicaceae
family. The smell of cooking cabbage still brings me out in hives. They have decent vegetables in Williamstown,” Tristam admitted, as if considering the food to which she was accustomed. “I’ve seen them there. I’ve even dined on them, though I prefer a good chop house. Still, they know me at the place we’re headed, and I get good service and adequate food—though generally not
quite so early in the evening. We will be missing the usual redneck crowd that lends it such a wonderful local color.”

“I think I’ve had enough color for the day.”

Vegetables. Karo thought of the cafeteria at her old job and grimaced. They’d had good vegetables there, but she didn’t know the next time she would dare show her face. The management there probably had her picture on file on a Least Wanted List, right behind the Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches that had invaded their kitchens back in ’05. “Yes, they do have nice veggies…We’re not going anywhere near Williamstown, though. Are we?” she asked, feeling sudden alarm. Would he drive them that far?

Tristam looked over. His expression was bland. “Scared? What have you been doing, Karo Follett?” He tut-tutted. “Of course I’d like nothing more than to round out the evening by watching you have a flaming row with your ex in a public place and then getting myself arrested and thrown in the stocks for blackening his eyes.”

“Would you?” She chuckled. “Thanks. I’m touched by the show of support. I think you’d probably manage to take him out. I did. Nevertheless, an evening without bloodshed would suit me better.”

Tristam glanced her way. He was smiling a bit. Maybe he thought she was kidding about assaulting F. Christian. Certainly none of her friends back home would believe it. She’d always been too ladylike.

“I should certainly hope I could ‘take’ him. It isn’t as though he earns his living off honest toil.”

“Just dishonest.”

He nodded. “Since you’re ravenous and don’t require vegetables, I think the Mountain Lion Lodge will do. They specialize in barbecued large animal, and in pale tubers like turnips and potatoes.”

“Sounds perfect,” Karo said. “I can always take a vitamin supplement later if I feel scurvy coming on.” She was more sanguine now that she was safe from bearding familiar faces. It wasn’t that she was afraid, exactly, but she could wait an eternity before being involved in another brawl and it would still be too soon. “And you needn’t worry about a flaming row. I’ve already done that—hurled wine, potato salad and accusations included—and I don’t like to repeat myself.”

“Did you really hurl the potato salad? I thought perhaps that was just an expression.” He glanced at her.

“No, I threw it, bowl and all.”

“What a vengeful creature it is! Are you going to hurl your wine at me for helping you shower?” He didn’t sound worried, so she grinned. “Is that the planned revenge—food in my lap or face?”

“Oh, no. Been there. Done that. I’ll think up something special just for you. Something appropriate and personal. Let the punishment fit the crime, I always say. Anyway, I’m hoping it’s a good wine.”

He laughed. “It’s adequate.”

The Lodge was charming, the ceiling low and timbered and they had a fireplace built of gray stone. There was also a small dance floor and a dais for a band, though there was no indication
that anyone would be playing that night. As promised, they clearly knew Tristam, and his arrival caused a certain amount of fluttering amongst the mostly female staff. Karo and Tristam were the first ones in the door that evening and had everyone’s undivided attention.

Sipping at a surprisingly good burgundy put out by Seven Witches, a label Tristam chose solely to tease her, Karo watched as her boss’s charm sent the probably underage waitresses running to implement his every desire. He had the gift of genteel command. Also, they were quite willingly bidden.

Karo wondered why he’d never tried such charming orders on her. He’d probably taken her number right away and, in spite of her protests about getting involved, had decided that he didn’t want to spend his days beating her off with a stick if he was too nice. Hence, the buddy-buddy treatment. Too bad he didn’t know about his pheromone problem. Should she mention it? It wasn’t like bad breath or body odor. She couldn’t just slip some mouthwash into his bathroom. And would she even
want
to stop it?

“Do you get such sterling service everywhere you go?” she asked at last, trying to distract herself from the rich vanilla and coconut smell that surrounded him.

“Certainly. America has been most welcoming.” His eyes twinkled. The arrogant so-and-so knew exactly what effect he had on women. That was dangerous knowledge for a man to have.

“It certainly looks that way,” Karo agreed. “Even
the ones old enough to know better are all but wagging their tails.”

Tristam just smiled and sipped his wine. “So, Mistress Follett, it occurs to me that we are—in the local parlance—on a first date. If I have the American ritual correctly, that means that we are supposed to cover some personal conversational ground between the cocktails and the first course.” He looked politely inquiring, but Karo was getting to know the gleam in his eye: pure trouble. “Or is that off-limits, given our employer-employee relationship? I have to admit to a case of raging curiosity about what you’ve been doing all your life. It can’t have all been spent hurling potato salad and climbing trees. I assume the latter is a matter of cell phone reception and not some kind of privacy fetish.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised how many cads have deserved a potato salad bath,” Karo said. She was trying to decide if she was going to let the supposition that they were on a first date stand unchallenged. In the end, she chose to let it go. Nor did she explain about her tree climbing.

“So…personal stuff, like family pedigrees, ex-spouses, illegitimate children—that sort of thing?” she asked him. Though she was ragingly curious about him as well, she added: “It sounds a little predictable, especially since I don’t have any pedigree. Maybe we should discuss politics or semicurrent events. Though, I haven’t actually read a newspaper in a couple of weeks.”

Before Tristam could reply, one of the girls, a young blonde with delicate freckles and a blouse
that was now unbuttoned to her lacy push-up bra, came bustling over and set the soup bowls down with a small flourish. She beamed at Tristam. Karo could almost hear the
voila
that went with the dramatic gesture, and his bowl was placed perfectly. Her own was off center and the soup sloshed over the edge.

“This is minestrone, but there’s chicken if you’d rather. It wouldn’t take but a minute to fetch it for you.” The blonde sounded breathless.

“This looks delicious, thank you.” Tristam nodded regally, and the girl backed away with shallow bows. She was practically shivering with delight.

“Go on. Ask for some crackers. She’ll love it,” Karo whispered, though she was beginning to get annoyed by all the hovering. She took her napkin and blotted up the soup edging for the lip of the table. “I bet she’ll even roll over if you scratch her behind the ears.”

“Jealousy ill becomes you, my dear.” Tristam looked down his perfect, arrogant nose at her and smirked.

“ ‘My dear,’ ” she mimicked his accent. “This isn’t jealousy. It’s amusement—the malicious kind. You know, à la Noel Coward. After all, she’s young enough to be your daughter.”

“Noel Coward, are you sure? But perhaps it suffers in translation. The American accent is so barbaric, and you tend to abridge everything—especially wit.”

“Ha! If the rednecks were here, the shoe would be on the other foot. I am very attractive to drunk men.” She stuck out her tongue.

He smiled blandly. “I’m sure you are, but we
have veered off course. Our topic tonight is personal.” He took a taste of his soup and nodded, then picked up his wine. “America has some excellent vineyards. Ever been married?”

“No. You?” she shot back without blinking.

“No. Involved?”

“Always, but not always with men.”

“Women, then?”

Karo glared. “No. With my work.”

“Is it a good lover?”

“It’s faithful.” She reached for her wine, ignoring her own steaming bowl. She knew that this wasn’t wise on an empty stomach, but she was feeling strangely irresponsible.

“Ah, but that’s not the same thing! Predictability is no stand-in for passion. Eventually you’ll want a lover again, someone or something to thrill you. Will you go seeking one?”

“Doubtful. I’ve given them up for the rest of the decade,” she lied.

Her gaze shifted past him to the garish jukebox against the long kitchen wall. On impulse, she reached into her purse and pulled out two quarters. Rising, she went to use them.

Tristam’s eyes followed her across the room. She scanned the titles in the machine and quickly selected two. The first was an old hit by Jon Secada; the second had her hiding a smile. She’d give him some really
original
English usage.

“Very sexy, but then I knew you could walk. Do you like to dance?” he asked as she returned to the table.

“Yes. But not here. We’d trip over someone.” Karo jerked her head. Another girl was bearing
down on them with a basket of bread. This one, a brunette, offered to fetch Tristam some crackers if he preferred. Or cheese toast. Or biscuits with gravy. Pancakes, waffles…really, he could have anything he wanted, she added eagerly, even if it wasn’t on the menu.

Karo picked up her spoon and tried the broth while a slightly chagrined Tristam did his polite best to banish further offers of starches. And other things. And others. She tried not to grin as his aplomb slipped.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “They are just acting more territorial than usual because I’m here. I don’t think they’ll actually try to mark you or anything.”

The girl didn’t notice Karo’s words, though Karo’s voice was not particularly quiet. She swayed closer, and Karo could see that she had rolled her skirt over at the waistband to make it several inches shorter.

“Do you like living on the east coast, or are you inclined to move around? No more bread—thank you!” Tristam said to the brunette. He frowned at Karo, who giggled, and got rid of the hovering girl by nodding at her again. Then he resumed his list of questions.

Such were the benefits of a one-track mind, Karo supposed, uncertain whether to be glad that he’d let the matter of her looking for a lover pass as he pursued the rest of his list. Karo was very interested in
his
romantic inclinations, but she decided to let sleeping dogs lie. Geography was a safer topic for the nonce.

“It’s alright.” She tried a little more soup. “I’m not wedded to it, though.”

Bad choice of words. She hoped he didn’t see it the same.

“How about England?” he asked.

“How about it?”

“Oh…My turn, is it? Well, let’s see.” He wrinkled his brow so that she would know he was thinking. “The ancestral manse is in a mossy part of Lincolnshire—pretty from May seventh through June third, and at no other time of year. To be honest, I’m grateful that Brother Jeremy will inherit the mire. As the younger son I have to be content with the leavings—which are rather generous, all things considered.”

“It’s tacky to brag about money. Especially to people who don’t have any,” she pointed out. “Didn’t your mother tell you that?”

He just grinned. “When I get to feeling homesick I pop over for a week or two, visit with Mum at the dower house—my sister-in-law is a bit much, so Mum keeps her own place—and then I head back stateside again. There is a great deal of comfort to be had in placing an ocean between me and my nearest and dearest.”