Good Deed Bad Deed, Marcia Morgan [summer beach reads TXT] 📗

of what time she came in. Before fixing a light supper, she showered and turned on her radio to a classical station, always her preference. She insisted that listening to the flow of music by the masters was like a Zen experience for her—always relaxing. Hours passed with no call from Olivia. Eventually she gave up and went to bed to continue with what she had hoped would be a good book. Less than a few pages into chapter two she nodded off, lights still on, music still playing softly in the background. When the phone startled her awake she had no idea of the time.

She said hello and heard Olivia’s voice. “Well, you said to call no matter how late I got home.” The silence on the other end made her pause before asking, “Were you asleep?”

“Yes, I had dozed off with my book. I know I told you to call, even late. It’s fine.” As Valerie spoke, she was already thinking of how to broach the subject of a getaway.

“So what was so important that it couldn’t wait until morning?” Olivia waited for her friend’s reply.

Valerie hesitated a moment then jumped in. “You remember about the possibility of having to close the shop?” Olivia answered that she did remember, and Valerie continued. “I’ve definitely decided to close it … temporarily. In a couple of weeks I’ll see how Chloe is doing, and then advertise for a temporary replacement, although I think that will be a problem. I’ll probably have to resort to hiring a schoolgirl.”

“I guess you don’t have too many choices right now, but what does this have to do with me?”

Valerie had thought too much about how to present her idea to Olivia, so rather than the rehearsed version of her plan, she began to ad lib. “I need very badly for you to take a trip with me. Don’t worry about money. This is something I’ve been considering for a while, and I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather share it with. Chloe’s accident could never be called fortuitous—it’s awful—but I can’t deny that the timing is in my favor. What do you think? Do you have any vacation time coming?”

“I have a week, but if I took longer, it would be without pay. I’m not sure I could weather the storm of a week without pay.” The banter stopped as both women thought about what to say next.

Valerie spoke first. “We’ll work it out. I’ll find the money for you. I’m sure there’s some way to get it from my mother. She doesn’t really pay attention to how the boutique is doing.”

“That doesn’t seem right, Valerie. I won’t consider it unless you tell her the truth about the trip.”

The wheels were turning as Valerie responded to Olivia’s sense of right and wrong. She thought it best to appear contrite, and to acquiesce to the demand. “All right, we’ll do it your way. Now, since you’ve all but agreed to go, let’s meet for lunch tomorrow and decide on our destination.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ana had never seen such darkness. There was no moon, and it seemed the only light in the world came from the small lantern that served as a guide to the front door. Ben turned toward her and smiled, then without a word got out of the car. His steps crunched the gravel as he came around to escort her from the car to the house. She emerged rather stiffly, the drive having been long and confining. As they approached the portico, the door opened and Paris walked forward with arms outstretched, her expression both loving and excited. Directly behind her was Ben’s father, Hugh, hands in his pockets and a broad smile on his face.

Paris immediately threw her arms around Ben, planting a motherly kiss on his cheek. She then turned to Ana and extended both of her arms, taking her lovely guest’s hands into her own. Not only her words, but also the warmth in Paris’ expression assured Ana that she was truly welcome. Paris had retained her beauty well into middle age, and Ana could see that Ben had his mother’s eyes, both in shape and color—an ocean blue that at first sight of Ben had drawn her to get lost in them. His mother was very feminine in a flowing maxi skirt of gray silk and a gauzy white shirt, tied at the waist. Ana admired the carved silver pendant that hung from her neck on a delicate chain.

They all went inside, and Ben’s father took the opportunity to welcome Ana as well, taking her hand in his and planting a quick soft kiss on each cheek. Hugh McKinnon was tall, like his son, and looked the perfect specimen of a robust sixty-something. His face was handsome, with the cragginess and healthy color of an outdoorsman. The gentleman’s hairline had receded slightly, a fact well disguised by a very close-cropped cut. Ana found him very dapper in his khakis and navy v-neck sweater, and she could see a resemblance between father and son. Their coloring was the same, and Ben had inherited that smile—the one that could make you think that either man could be enjoying a private joke. But when it was Ben smiling, she found it extremely provocative.

Paris ushered them into the sitting room. Ana found the décor surprisingly chic for the country, yet it was well worn enough to be inviting and comfortable. Hugh offered aperitifs and busied himself at the antique sideboard that had been converted into a bar. Paris approached Ben, reaching up to touch his injured shoulder, and the two spoke quietly while Ana walked around the room, taking in every detail.

The walls held a diverse collection of paintings: a large nineteenth century English landscape, several small portraits, probably family, and a pair of highly colored modern abstracts. Ana was impressed to find that such an eclectic mix could be so complementary. A tasteful touch of bric-a-brac, as well as