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She got stubborn. Imagine that. Mary Samuel getting stubborn.
“Besides, my little backyard still leads straight into the park. Guinevere loves it.”
“Good for you. Now I know we’re sympatica. We know what we want and how to get it.”
Oh boy. Truer words had never been spoken. Maybe he could learn something from hearing all this.
But, on second thought, no. With his aunt, sometimes he heard or saw warning signals she wanted somethingandwasgoingtogetit,andsometimeshe didn’t. It never made any difference. He still ended up twisted into a knot around her little finger.
He shuddered to think about what these two women could concoct together. He’d never know whathithim,andneitherwouldhalfoftherestofthe world. Which made it a good idea to stay well away from at least one of them.
It wouldn’t be his aunt, of course. She needed him, for all she would never admit it. The big bad world out there would eat her up, the dear soul, without him protecting her from it.
Which was monumentally frustrating. Aside from Aunt Cynthia, he was almost free of people he had to look after, even the thousands of men and women working at Van Deventer Ventures. They’d be on their own soon, with the best start in employee ownership he could give them.
That almost made things worse. He was so close to his dream: freedom on a farm in the middle of nowhere, where no one depended on him. He craved solitude to create the sculptures that sang in his soul.
Hah! Wouldn’t the world laugh if it knew about that?The“boy-geniusbusinessman”whothoughthe could be an artist.
Mary’stinklinglaughcameasthoughitwereamile away. Was she already laughing at him?
“It was all Guinevere’s fault I was caught in my lingerie,” she was saying, “but when I realized she’d dragged me into meeting Francis Van Deventer the Fifth, I had to try.”
“To get the interview,” Aunt Cynthia said. “The oh-so-important interview.”
There went Aunt Cynthia’s finger again, tapping thoughtfully, dangerously, on her chin. “That’s rather a problem. The dear boy doesn’t like talking to the media.”
Vanwouldn’tfeelguilty.Hedidn’tlikefeelingguilty. He had no intention of feeling guilty.
“Now that I’ve lost my job, I want him to work with me much more in depth for a whole book on the business success story of the decade. That would make me not media, wouldn’t it?”
Aunt Cynthia clapped her hands. “That would be wonderful!”
Ice cubes clinked ominously in Van’s blood. These two were dangerous.
Aunt Cynthia looked at him and sighed. “But, oh, I don’t think even I could get him to agree to that. But wait. Sometimes Lancelot can soften him up.”
She crooked her finger toward the Basset Hound, who leaped to his feet instantly. He bounded over to Van and tried to climb into Van’s lap. That dog never gave up. Occasionally, very occasionally, Van let the dog lie alongside him on the couch, head on lap, but only when no one was around.
He fended the dog off, but pretended not to notice whenLancelotcurledupwithhisheadrestingonone of Van’s polished shoes and against his ankle. The women were too busy stirring up trouble to notice. Besides, maybe the warmth of the dog’s head would do something, anything, about the ice cubes in Van’s blood.
“Mutt thinks he’s a lapdog,” Van muttered.
Mary pointedly ignored him. “It would take a lot to make me give up on this.”
Uh-oh. He didn’t want to see what it would take to make her give up on anything.
He shot to his feet and paced. Lancelot scrambled up and glued himself to Van’s side, staying out from under foot for once.
“Hmm, maybe you don’t have to,” Aunt Cynthia said. “Lancelot clearly thinks a lot of you. He’s a remarkable judge of character.”
Van didn’t know what that had to do with anything, so he paced faster. So did Lancelot.
Aunt Cynthia said, “I’ve been thinking I might get married again.”
Van’s jaw dropped with a thud he thought might cave in his chest.
“I just haven’t met the right man.” Aunt Cynthia reached out to take Mary’s hand. “But you know a lot of men, don’t you, my dear, through your Movers, Makers, and Shakers column?”
