The Burning Point (53 page)

Not bothering with a greeting, Bradford Westerfield III barked, "For God's sake, Val, what's this nonsense I hear about you leaving Crouse, Resnick?"

"Not nonsense, Brad," she said calmly. "I've had enough of life in a big law firm, and I'm ready to go."

"You're insane to throw away all you've achieved so far. And just after you made partner! That's more than insane, that's... that's
perverse
."

As he proceeded in that vein, Val half tuned him out. Ironic that he was talking about her professional successes only when she was leaving. She supposed that he loved her in his fashion, but nonetheless, she was an embarrassment--the illegitimate daughter he'd sired during his one youthful dabble in rebellion. She would never be tall, slim, blond, or legitimate.

He sighed with exasperation. "You're not listening to a word I'm saying."

"I could quote your last few sentences, but if what you mean is that nothing you say will change my mind, you're right. The decision is made." She smiled wickedly. "What if I say that I can make more money on my own? Would that make a difference?"

His voice changed. "Are you going to handle class-action suits like the ones over asbestos and tobacco? There's huge amounts of money to be made there, and you would be good at it."

"No class-action suits, at least not yet. I've just taken on my first new case--to try to get a convicted cop killer off death row. I won't make a penny off this even if I'm successful--which I probably won't be."

He snorted, recognizing that he was being baited. "You're your mother's daughter, Val."

The statement was not meant as a compliment. Val's mother, Callie Covington, was an aging hippie who lived her principles and disdained practicality. Occasionally she made Val nuts, but she was real and admirable, and she, at least, would approve that her only daughter was kicking over the traces of the establishment. "Callie will probably buy me a bottle of cheap California champagne to celebrate."

Her father unexpectedly laughed. "She would. Very well, if you're bound and determined to practice do-gooder law, I'm sure you'll do it well. But when you decide you want to return to a real firm, come to New York and work for me."

"Brad, that's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me." She sent greetings to her stepmother and half sisters, then hung up.

When she was younger, she had wondered what it would be like to have parents she could call Mom and Dad. The commune where she had spent her early years considered anything but first names to be hierarchal and bourgeois.

The Mount Hope Peace Commune. Among her longtime friends, it was generally agreed that Val had the weirdest upbringing, though Rainey was a close second.

Callie had been a gorgeous auburn-haired earth mother, while Brad was a tall blond WASP entranced by the world outside his privileged childhood. The couple was a classic example of opposites attracting--then being unable to get along. They had lived together in the North Carolina commune until Brad tired of rebellion and returned to his real life, which meant Harvard Law School and a career in a top New York law firm.

Callie had stayed at Mount Hope practicing art, gardening, and free love until Val reached school age, then she moved to Baltimore and set up a studio. Though she was a gifted fabric artist, she had no business sense and didn't earn regular money until she began teaching art in a small progressive school. The salary wasn't much, but at least it was regular and she enjoyed die work.

Since Brad was the responsible sort who paid child support regularly even though he hadn't known Callie was pregnant when he left, they got by. Val attended the local Quaker private school on her father's dime, then made it through college and law school on scholarships and student loans. Though Val was proud of having managed on her own, unlike her mother she had never wanted to rebel against the middle class. She had wanted to join it, and she had.

Speaking of Callie... Val reached for the phone. Time to invite her mother to dinner and tell her the news.

After Callie accepted the invitation, Val had one last call to make before settling down to her brief. The phone rang three times before it was answered. "Rob here."

Hearing traffic in the background, Val guessed it was a cell phone. "Hi, Rob? This is Val Covington. I've changed my mind about the suitability of putting a law office in a church. Do you have time now to discuss the details?"

"For sure." There was a smile in his voice. "I'm glad you changed your mind."

"So am I." She could hardly wait to begin her new life. And apparently it would include Rob Smith, which would be... interesting.

Excerpt

from

A Holiday Fling

Novella in the Circle of Friends Word

(A spin-off of
The Spiral Path
.)

My full-length contemporary romance The Spiral Path had a couple of appealing secondary characters who were single and a little lonely, so they immediately popped into my mind when I decided to do a contemporary Christmas story for this collection. Greg Marino and Jenny Lyme are both in show business, and they're both genuinely nice people who love their work. But he's American and she's English, he's behind the camera while she's in front, and when their paths had crossed a dozen years before, their careers swiftly took them away from each other. Can this time be different?

Chapter 1

The Tithe Barn Community Center

Upper Bassett

Gloucestershire, England

"The Carthage Corporation wants
how
much?" Jenny Lyme blinked, thinking she must have misheard.

The head of the community center council, who happened to be her mother, Alice Lyme, repeated the figure. There were far too many zeros.

"Property costs the earth here in the Cotswolds, even in an out-of-the-way comer like Upper Bassett. Throw in the barn's age, and the price goes even higher." Patricia Holmes, third member of the council present--and Jenny's big sister--scribbled figures on a tablet. "Even if we sell every seat to every performance of the Revels, there is no possible way we can raise enough." She pushed the tablet away with a frown. "Resign yourself to the fact that some rich London stockbroker will buy the place and tart it up for use three or four weekends a year."

"No!" Jenny said vehemently. "The tithe barn is the heart and soul of Upper Bassett. Without it, our village identity will wither away."

"You're right. Many of my fondest memories occurred here." Her mother sighed. "But the lease is expiring, Carthage is determined to sell, and we simply don't have the money to meet their price."

"Do you think a bank would give us a loan using the property as collateral?" Jenny suggested without much hope.

"That might buy us some time, but even in a good year, the center only breaks even." Patricia pushed her glasses higher on her nose. She was a schoolteacher, and the gesture was very effective at convincing her classes that she meant business. "We will never be able to make enough money to pay off a loan, even assuming some bank officer is demented enough to give us one."

Jenny rose from the battered chair and crossed to the door of the small office. The ancient music ensemble was practicing on the stage at the far end of the bam. She had discovered her passion for acting on that stage, and she couldn't bear thinking that soon no more local children would have such an opportunity to perform, play, and build lifelong friendships. "If my career were in better shape, I'd donate the money myself."

"Your career is fine," Patricia said loyally. "You can't expect to go from one smashing series right to another, but you're still working."

"Even if you could afford it, that might not be the best thing for the village," Alice added. "This is a community center--it needs to be saved through collective action, not by one successful woman raiding her retirement savings."

Jenny supposed they were both right. Her career was having a slow spell but it wasn't dead yet, and her mother made a good point that the center belonged to all of them and should be saved by joint efforts. That was why Jenny had stepped in to produce and direct the upcoming Revels, combining the considerable local talent with her own skills and connections to create a professional-quality show. She was even performing as Lady Molly, the female lead.

But it wasn't enough. "The Revels are going to be marvelous. If only there was a way to use the production to generate more money--" She stopped as an idea struck.

"You've got that dangerous look in your eyes, Jennifer," Alice said warily. "Care to enlighten us?"

Jenny turned back to the office and leaned against the door frame as two identical pairs of blue eyes regarded her. The women of the Lyme family looked ridiculously alike, with dark hair, pale, flawless Welsh complexions, and deep blue eyes. She hoped that she and Patricia would age as gracefully as their mother was doing. "This isn't dangerous. It just occurred to me that we could film the Revels and sell videotapes of the performance. Get it reviewed or mentioned in some of the London papers. If we do a really good job, maybe we could sell broadcast rights to the BBC for next Christmas."