A Twist Of Fate. Lisa Jackson

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      Three

      It was late afternoon by the time Erin arrived home. She had spent the day window-shopping and walking through the heart of the city, mindlessly watching the crowds of shoppers and breathing the salty air from the Sound. She had avoided going home, content to wander among the tourists as she attempted to sort out her confused feelings. She didn’t want to deal with anything or anyone until she had set her uneven emotions back in balance. But try as she would, she was unable to push Kane Webster out of her thoughts.

      Erin was angry and resentful of the way Kane had so high-handedly dismissed Mitch. She was offended by his insinuations that she had compromised her morals for career advancement by sleeping with Mitch. And, perhaps more than anything else, she was afraid of and uncertain about the feelings that he could stir in her with only a look or a touch of his fingertips. It was as if he were attracting her and repelling her at the same time. What was it about him that caused such warring emotions to battle in her weary mind? Something about him excited her, fascinated her, and she felt helpless as a moth compelled to an irresistible flame. It was a flame that would surely burn her with a molten passion until she was consumed by heat and fire.

      Even the old Victorian apartment house didn’t seem as comforting as usual. As Erin was about to mount the stairs to the loft, Mrs. Cavenaugh, oldest of the tenants, opened the door of her apartment and called to Erin before she could escape.

      “Erin, honey,” Mrs. Cavenaugh cajoled sweetly while leaning heavily on her cane. “It’s already getting dreadfully cold in here. I thought you were going to do something about that insulation. The floor is just like ice, and it’s starting to bother my arthritis again.” The kindly, bespectacled old woman smiled at Erin.

      “Yes, Mrs. Cavenaugh, I know,” Erin sighed as she paused on the lowest step. “And I promise that I’ll get some bids on the insulation this week. There…uh, have been a few changes at the office. I’ve been pretty busy and I guess I’ve been neglecting my duties around here. But that’s no excuse. I’ll take care of it.”

      Wise, faded blue eyes scanned Erin’s face, and Mrs. Cavenaugh shook a slightly crooked finger at the younger woman. “I could tell that something was bothering you from the moment you dragged yourself through the door. It’s not that ex-husband of yours again, is it?”

      “Oh, no! This has nothing to do with Lee…”

      “Humph! Always said that boy would come to no good.”

      Erin began to protest again, but Mrs. Cavenaugh would have none of it. “You know what you need, don’t you? A cup of my chamomile tea. A good strong one.” She gave Erin a knowing wink. “You’re in luck—I have a pot brewing this very minute.” A crafty look came over the wrinkled face, and she turned to lead Erin into her apartment.

      “Oh, no, Mrs. Cavenaugh, I couldn’t…”

      “Nonsense!” Mrs. Cavenaugh sputtered. “Now, you come in here and tell me what’s really bothering you!”

      Erin stopped protesting to smile and follow the bent figure into her apartment. The poor dear woman wasn’t really looking for Erin to complain about the cold floors at all, Erin realized. Mrs. Cavenaugh just wanted some company to brighten the long afternoon and evening. Erin decided the least she could do was enjoy a cup of tea with her elderly tenant, even if it was the foulest concoction ever to be poured from a silver teapot.

      As Erin expected, the long, lace-covered coffee table was already set for two. A service of shining silver teapot and fragile porcelain cups adorned the table, and the air was scented with the strong aroma of chamomile.

      Erin sat graciously in the floral side chair while, with slightly shaking hands, Mrs. Cavenaugh poured the pale ochre liquid into one of the cups. “Sugar?” she suggested, and without waiting for an answer, dropped two lumps into the light-colored brew.

      Erin took the cup and sipped at the tea while Mrs. Cavenaugh settled herself into her favorite worn rocker. “So now, Erin, tell me about your problems at work.” Light blue eyes sparkled with interest as Erin briefly sketched out her morning at the bank. Erin glossed over a few of the details, carefully omitting any references to the bevy of emotions that her new boss had aroused in her. But Mrs. Cavenaugh’s knowing eyes saw more than Erin had hoped to divulge.

      “So this new boss of yours…what’s-his-name…” Mrs. Cavenaugh began.

      “Mr. Webster.” Erin supplied the missing words.

      “Yes…what’s he like?” Eyes, crinkled at the corners, stared earnestly at Erin over the rim of the tiny cup.

      “Oh, I don’t know,” Erin said with a shrug, hoping that she appeared aloof. “He’s…all business, I suppose. You know, the typical banker type.”

      “I wonder…” The old woman paused dramatically, but Erin refused to rise to the bait and defend her position. “You say that he let Mitchell Cameron go? Why?”

      Erin frowned into her teacup. “I don’t know,” she replied earnestly. “But I intend to find out!”

      Mrs. Cavenaugh’s laughter crackled through the apartment. “And I don’t doubt that you will.” Why did Mrs. Cavenaugh seem so pleased? “Do you expect to corner Mr. Webster at work on Monday and get to the bottom of this?”

      “I hadn’t really thought about it. He wants me to meet him tomorrow—show him the city, let him know firsthand about the bank. But I don’t think it would be a good idea. You know how I feel about my free time…”

      “Oh, nonsense!” The sweet, wrinkled woman smiled and waved her hand, dismissing Erin’s argument as if it were a bothersome insect. “Yes, I know all about your need for privacy, and I know why. But, Erin, it’s been eight long years since that louse of a husband walked out on you, and you can’t hide away forever. Why not have some fun with this Mr. Webster? How could it hurt?”

      “I have no intention of ‘having fun’ with Kane!” Erin exclaimed, bristling. Mrs. Cavenaugh’s eyes seemed to dance at Erin’s familiar use of her employer’s first name. “If I were to go, it would be strictly as a business meeting!”

      “Call it whatever you will, it doesn’t matter. But for goodness’ sake, honey, go!” Mrs. Cavenaugh seemed to sense that Erin was wavering, and she added one final incentive. “How else do you plan to find out about Mitchell Cameron, unless you confront this Webster? I would think that you would prefer to do it while you were alone with the man.” She seemed thoughtful for a minute, letting her teacup rest in her hand. “This isn’t the kind of thing that you would want to start a scene over—now, is it? It just wouldn’t do to let on to all of the employees. It’s too scandalous, don’t СКАЧАТЬ