The Long Road Home. Mary Monroe Alice

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ smile said, and I’ll be good to you.

      “That won’t be necessary,” she replied firmly. “A report in the mail should suffice. I plan to leave town as soon as possible.”

      Thirteen pairs of brows rose in unison.

      “Leave? To where, my dear?” Bellows asked.

      Truth was, she didn’t know. Anywhere but here, Nora thought, her gaze traveling across the impassive faces surrounding her. She’d had enough of false friendship. She’d had her fill of dismissal and rejection, of sympathy with strings attached. Somewhere along the line, she’d lost sight of her values. Looking back, she couldn’t remember what it was she had hoped to achieve by thirty.

      This was a turning point. Nora wanted to go somewhere she could work hard, earn her own living, and reevaluate her values. Somewhere, she wanted to build a life that mattered.

      Nora’s hand stilled in her lap. An entry from the report came to mind with a flash. Such a place existed, she realized, a smile escaping from her rigid control. Excitement bubbled. She knew exactly where that place was.

      Leaving Bellows’s question hanging, Nora dove into the report and began flipping quickly through the pages.

      “I assure you we went through everything thoroughly,” an attractive woman lawyer commented.

      “I’m sure you have,” Nora replied tersely. She remembered the blonde from the “attack” team. Nora ran her finger along the listed property, unconsciously holding her breath. When she spotted what she was looking for, her breath exhaled with a satisfying gasp. The estimated value was fairly low.

      “Looking for anything in particular?” asked Bellows, his interest clearly piqued.

      “Just one moment, please,” Nora replied without looking up. Grabbing a pencil she made notations, referring back to page three. Always facile with numbers, Nora reviewed the estimated values, made a few more notations, and calculated an alternative plan.

      When she looked up again, the twelve lawyers and accountants were slouched in their chairs in exaggerated poses of boredom. Their noses seemed to have grown inches, the way they peered down at her from behind them. Nora coughed back a laugh. Only Bellows viewed her with intense interest.

      “I’ll take the Vermont farm instead of the cash,” she announced.

      Twelve chairs creaked as the men and women snapped to attention and shuffled through their papers.

      Bellows seemed both amused and curious. “The sheep farm? But why, Nora? It is a small operation, risky at best. Its only purpose for Mike was as a tax write-off.”

      “All true,” she replied, holding back her excitement.

      His eyes narrowed. “I believe the house is unfinished. Have you and Mike ever lived there?”

      “No,” she said emphatically. “Never.”

      “I see,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. His eyes never left her. “Then why the farm?”

      “Why not?” She wasn’t about to confide in Uncle Ralph. “I want it,” she said bluntly, “and according to my calculations, I can have it—plus enough to establish an interest-bearing account of about three hundred thousand dollars. That should give me enough to eke out a living.”

      “A meager living, to be sure.”

      “I’m not afraid,” she lied again. As he went through her figures, adding a few of his own, Nora maintained her icy composure. She could not let on how much this meant to her.

      “I don’t want any surprises,” she said. “Not without a cushion. I assume your calculations are correct?” An indignant harumph sounded from her left as an accountant’s face mottled. Nora focused only on Bellows. This was between the two of them, Mike’s personal lawyer and his widow.

      She could sense the growing surprise and antagonism of the men and women around her. These were Mike’s people. She, his wife, was the outsider.

      And that was the way she wanted it. Her foot began tapping beneath the heavy table as she put together the pieces of her new, even radical plan. In her mind she could envision the farm the last time she saw it—what was it—three years ago? The verdant lushness of the Vermont mountains, the fat red raspberries hanging ripe on the bush, fields of oxeye daisies, Queen Anne’s lace and clover sprouting up between rocks, dark woods with cool breezes, and the bucolic bleating of the lambs. It could all be hers. She could make something of her life there, she felt sure of it.

      A heady kind of enthusiasm raced through her no-longer-complacent veins. An excitement that ran slipshod over her rational constraints, delivering a new confidence. The kind that in the past had inspired her to impulsively buy a piece of furniture, or a painting. Though based on knowledge, the decision was instinct. She was born with what some people called “a knack.”

      She had to have the farm, she thought with quiet desperation. It was right. And it was all she had to hold on to.

      Bellows cleared his throat, once again bringing his court into session. “Well,” he said with both resignation and mirth. “I see no reason why this can’t be arranged.”

      Amid the grumbling of disapproval at the table, Nora beamed.

      “Only one more contingency,” he warned.

      Nora stiffened.

      “Remember that nothing is final until after the auction. That gives you two months to determine if you can make a go of it at this sheep farm of yours. And even if you do, you can still lose it to Mike’s creditors.”

      “But that is unlikely. You said yourself the auction should be a success.”

      “Should be and will be are worlds apart.” Like a consummate judge, he glared at every man and woman that sat around the table, no one longer than at Nora herself. “The status of the MacKenzie estate is confidential. This is absolute. Should word of MacKenzie’s bankruptcy leak out, the auction will be ruined. Mrs. MacKenzie cannot set a minimum bid. And if the auction doesn’t bring in the bacon—” he paused to close the report with grand effect “—then all of you go home hungry.”

      Not a paper rustled.

      “That’s it,” Bellows concluded. Instantly the table was covered with expensive leather attaché cases of every color considered understated yet elegant. As papers were shuffled in and people shuffled out, Bellows came around the table and offered his hand to Nora.

      She took it warily.

      He held her hand for a moment, looking at the lone gold band on her ring finger, then said with surprising sincerity, “Good luck, Mrs. MacKenzie.”

      Nora detected none of his earlier lecherousness. A small smile eased across her face. “Thank you, Mr. Bellows. I’m sure I’ll need it.”

      Bellows released her hand with a glint of amusement in his eyes. After an urbane nod of his head, he strolled from the room.

      Relief flooded her. Good-bye, old boy! she mouthed as she watched his retreating back. Good-bye all of you, she thought, addressing the empty chairs around the table. The images before СКАЧАТЬ