The Ghost and Miss Demure (9 page)

“Well, you’re not a historian. And you are a man. I guess I’ll have to forgive you for thinking that way,” Karo said huffily. Her nose wrinkled. “But a common whore would hardly add tone to the place. At least, not the right kind. Political corruption is fine. Moral corruption is not.”

“Um, I don’t think she was common. Certainly
she wasn’t inexpensive.” Karo’s hand was back in her hair, pulling her shirt tight. It was perturbing, to a degree, to find such simple gestures on his employee’s part to be completely arousing. Tristam cleared his throat and made a stab at gathering his wandering thoughts.

“I bow to your greater experience. The United States does seem to have some distinct regional taboos which must be considered. Had enough dust for one afternoon? I’m ready for some lunch. Damn!” Tristam looked at his watch.

“What?”

“It’s after two. Come to think of it, I never gave you breakfast. Come on. I better feed you before you have a relapse. Doctor Monroe said I was to see that you got three squares, lots of tea breaks and plenty of sleep or you would likely flake out on me.”

“Well, I like the sound of that,” Karo answered, hoping he was kidding about the doctor’s diagnosis. “I wouldn’t want to start seeing ghosts again, or end up doing anything else to embarrass myself. Last night put me over my quota of dumb acts for the week.”

“Last night wasn’t all bad,” Tristam replied cheerfully, tucking Valperga’s portrait back against the wall, facing inward. “Let’s take the main stair. I don’t feel up to another run as a lab animal. This house has given me a true understanding of how rats must feel in a maze.”

“It wasn’t all bad, huh? I suppose you liked sleeping in the library.”

“Of course not. But then, I didn’t sleep in the
library.” He pulled the door shut behind them. When Karo hung back, letting him take the lead, Tristam brushed by her and started down the steps. He added over his shoulder: “And I quite enjoyed carrying a beautiful, half-naked woman to bed—even if she did bite me.”

Karo stopped in her tracks and watched her boss’s lithe form disappear from view. So much for his being an indulgent uncle! None of her relatives had ever spoken to her like that. Neither had any of her employers.

“I’ll never wear linen again,” she muttered.

“That would be a shame.” His voice floated up clearly. “And the bedroom chair was quite comfortable.”

Karo was grateful that he didn’t turn around and look at her. She knew she had blushed a shade of red to rival roses.

“You sound like something out of a bad romance novel!” she yelled.

“If I had a mustache I’d twirl it,” he called in reply.

“You’d look hideous in a mustache!”

But he wouldn’t. There wasn’t much of anything that would make Tristam English look bad.

Over towering roast beef sandwiches stuffed with artichoke hearts and peppers, Tristam set about putting his wary nymph at ease. She had plainly been disturbed by his teasing and he was very curious about what would make her poker up so completely when she joined him downstairs. Had the thought of him watching her sleep been that unnerving?
Surely she understood that he couldn’t leave her alone last night after her accident.

Or, was there some exposed nerve that he’d accidentally trod upon? She had been rather anxious to vacate her last position, and he had been too happy at finding a qualified prospective employee to ask any questions.

“I know why I hired you,” he said thoughtfully, pouring the rest of his Coke into a Star Wars glass. Karo had refused one, saying she preferred to drink straight from the can. “But why did you take this job?”

“Why does any woman throw over a career and move to the black hole of Calcutta?” she tossed back casually, breaking off a bite of sandwich for ’Stein. The big cat never seemed to leave the dining room if he could help it. And why would he? The food probably ended up there eventually, and it was free of dust and grabby antlers.

“A religious calling? Temporary insanity? Boredom with the Fife and Drum Corps that had you dying for the British yearly,” Tristam suggested. “Or, the old stand-by—an affair of the heart gone disastrously awry.”

The last was a guess, and he was slightly surprised when she blinked. “Well, let’s just say that I liked the Fife and Drum Corps well enough. It was the usual reason,” she admitted. “Anyway, the job wasn’t really in my field. I just liked Williams-town and I was willing to stay in a comfortable rut until it became…”

“Uncomfortable? And your employer let you go without a struggle or two weeks’ notice?”

“It would be truthful to say that my employer was ready to move on to another…project. And notice was definitely given.”

“I see.” And he thought that he did—at least the general outline. “Well, that does explain a few things. Care to mention who the fool was? I would like to send around a thank-you note.”

She laughed. “Please do. And send it care of the Board of Trustees. I’m sure they’d like to hear that their money hired a man so very dedicated to his job that he’ll do anything to keep a good assistant, even stealing her work and passing it off as his own. I bet they would even approve. They’re sexist enough.”

“Hm…That isn’t the best of ways to ensure loyalty, is it? Not unless you’re very generous with your compensation or willing to seduce your victim first. I expect that he hasn’t had the proper training. Very few academic types do. We’re all in the private sector, where there’s usually money for bribes.”

“What!” She laughed again and then choked on a bite of sandwich. “Maybe I should be glad for that impoverished budget you mentioned. Neither of us will be tempted to misbehave.”

“I wouldn’t insult you with money. I’m sure you would never take it.”

“Money isn’t insulting. Not when you’re poor.”

“He must have been clumsy to have shattered your loyalty so thoroughly,” Tristam persisted. “I bet his idea of a proper bribe was a single red rose laid on top of a mountain of research notes that needed typing. Overnight.”

“What are you, clairvoyant?” Karo chuckled and
her face relaxed. “You’re absolutely right. One rose for typing. Six white daisies for research. He was under the impression that I like daisies. To be polite, I had to keep them in the office where they smelled up everything.”

Tristam opened his eyes wide, playing to her sudden laughter. “Of course I’m clairvoyant. It’s not such a stretch, after all. My dear, you’ve gone and left him flat. What else would drive you to it?”

“What indeed?”

Tristam spoke to the air. “You know, I’ve always felt that betraying an optimist is rather like starting a butterfly collection. It can be fun at the time, I suppose, but one nearly always regrets it later.”

“You think that we have to excuse F. Christian because of his possible eventual regret? I doubt remorse has ever entered his head. He was getting desperate. It was publish or perish time. You know what that means in the world of academia.” She sighed and then found herself confiding: “It wasn’t just F. Christian stealing my work—though he is a patronizing, lecherous, thieving pain in the butt. I suppose this is dreary, but I really thought he liked me. As a woman. I—Pardon?”

“Nothing.” Tristam coughed into his napkin. “Was there another woman as well? There must have been. This idiot would seem to leave no cliché unturned.”

Karo eyed him. “Yes. As it turns out, there is a very blonde, very rich, very unknown—at least to me—fiancée. I’m afraid I wasn’t what you would call mature or dignified about the proposed pajama party he offered after admitting he stole my research.” She, with an effort, quit grinding
her teeth. “What a deal, huh? I get F. Christian and his bride, a chance to write papers he can steal, and an underpaid job from eight to five. Except on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when I could have him ’til seven, though remain underpaid. And Miss Magnolia gets everything else. Including a chance to do the kind of work that that bastard was promising me for the last three years. He gave her the job I wanted!”

Tristam made a choking sound that turned into another unconvincing cough.

Karo pointed a finger at him and added direfully: “He should be darn grateful that we weren’t sleeping together, because he’d have ended up worse off than he did. I believe in Old Testament vengeance. None of this ‘Let mercy season justice’ stuff.”

“What did you do?” Tristam asked, genuinely curious.

“I shoved him into a buffet and dumped potato salad on his head. Had there been a carving knife, he might have ended up dead, but there were only spoons.”

“I see. And that would be in lieu of two weeks’ notice…? Well, there’s nothing like a bit of revenge to raise one’s spirits.” His tone was quite bracing and made her glower, but he raised an eyebrow at her expression. “Do I really need to point out the obvious—that you’re better off without the bounder? I’m sure it was the wonder of the week back at the office, but you’ll live. Embarrassment never actually killed anyone.”

“I know. I’m here, aren’t I?” she grumbled. “I figured it out. The job was a tontine, anyway. I
mean, I wasn’t going to be promoted until someone died.”

“That’s the stuff,” he said encouragingly.

“You know what burns me most? F. Christian and Mint Julep will probably be very happy together, her writing all the papers and him getting all the credit, while I go down in history as the one responsible for ruining the Williamstown Founders’ Day Dinner.” She added, “I sure hope I get a real job before anyone hears about this little side trip of mine. No offense, but I don’t think this job is going on my resume. I’m going to have to gloss over this interlude, especially if word about Vellacourt’s activities gets out.”

“Gloss it with what? Even marine varnish won’t make these things look shiny. But you’ll manage. You are creative and efficient and capable of avenging the wrongs done you. In fact, you faced down a hurricane. In other words, you may be dusty but you remain unbowed.” He smiled.

“Please, stop complimenting me. I can’t take so much undeserved praise. Driving in that storm was idiocy. It was all idiocy.”

Tristam laughed at her glum expression. “Cheer up. The tragedy has ended and life goes on. I predict that great happiness and well-earned fame lay ahead of you—but not in the field of museum work. Talk of masochism! It’s not for you, m’dear. You’ve far too much energy and life to be working in such a fossilized field. We can do better. This is a low-class, boiler room operation, but it’s fun and will be profitable. Just give me a chance to win you over to my way of life.”

“Yeah, I know. I know I’ll be fine—just as long
as I stay away from blond men and bosses,” she said without thinking. “I have a bad history with blond men and bosses.” She was feeding ’Stein another bite of sandwich, however, and missed Tristam’s arrested expression.

“There’s been more than one blond heartbreaker in your short life?”

“Yes.” Karo lifted a finger. “The first was Randy Potter, in the third grade. He always talked me out of my potato chips at lunch.” A second finger went up. “Then Barry Deaver in high school. He two-timed me with the phys-ed teacher. Not that I blame him. She was a real Barbie doll, and what eigh teen-year-old hormone factory could resist? Hm. I guess the last one—before F. Christian—was Professor Kayle. Bob didn’t play around with bimbos, he just stole research from me.”

“Good God!”

“Yes, that’s what I said, among other things. I asked him why he did it, of course. But Bob had kind of a limited imagination. He couldn’t even think up a good sob story as an excuse.” Her brow furrowed. “That may have been why he had to steal my paper. Lack of imagination isn’t good in a profession that requires a certain amount of creative speculation, and where you have to find something new to say at least once a year. I mean, I’m not naïve and I’m willing to take one for the team. I know some professors who routinely use their students’ work to pad their research, but since he used my paper verbatim, don’t you think that at the very least he should have given me some credit in the footnotes—called it a collaboration or thanked his research assistant or something?”

“Good God,” Tristam said again.

“And after all that, he had the nerve to give me an A minus for the class!” She bit into her sandwich with unusual force, jaws slamming together with ten thousand PSI. “And then, to make the same mistake with F. Christian? I need a keeper.”

“Um, Karo?” Tristam cleared his throat. “What color hair would you say I have?”

“Oh. Gold,” she said, after she had swallowed and chased the sourdough with a mouthful of Coke. “Maybe a touch of brindle.”

“That’s nothing like blond, is it?”

“Uh…” She stared at him, her expression suddenly thoughtful. “No. I don’t think so. I certainly hope not.”

“Oh, well. I suppose that will do. I wouldn’t want you thinking that I was a subhuman, research-stealing bimbo chaser.”

“I don’t. But, Tristam?” she asked, setting her sandwich aside. “I’ve been wondering about something.”

“Yes?”

“Does this job come with dental insurance?”

“No. Do you need a dentist?”

“Hopefully not. And I think we’ll get along fine as long as I don’t do any research for you.”

They gave up work as the sun set and decided to change before tackling dinner. Tristam came to his erstwhile room to collect the rest of his clothing, and Karo, as a matter of form, again offered to retire to the guest cottage. He declined firmly, again, citing her health and the benefits of a water heater for the bath, however small in capacity.

Then, with a bland smile that she had learned usually preceded some outrageous remark, he suggested in his most mellifluous voice that they could always share the hot water if she was truly concerned about putting him out in the cold. Her stupid heart stuttered and then picked up its pace as the light scent of vanilla filled her brain.

Share the hot water? Karo blinked in amazement while she considered the notion and all the ways that phrase could be interpreted. She had absolutely no intention of taking Tristam up on it, whatever the offer was. She wasn’t congenitally stupid! She fully comprehended that she was currently stranded on a very shaky professional archipelago with a handsome man, and already burdened with a lot of bad history with men. She sensed plainly that the potential for self-immolation was growing. And she knew that neither her ego—nor bank account—could withstand any further romantic mishaps.