Page 6 of A Man for Amanda
“Beer?” Coco ushered him into the parlor, wishing she’d had a moment to freshen the flowers in the vase and plump the pillows. “I have some very nice beer in the kitchen that I use for my spiced shrimp. Amanda, you’ll entertain Sloan, won’t you?”
“Sure. Why not?” Though she wasn’t feeling particularly gracious, Amanda gestured to a chair, then took one across from him in front of the fireplace. “I suppose I should apologize.”
Sloan reached down to pet Fred, who had followed them in. “What for?”
“I wouldn’t have been so rude if I’d realized why you were here.”
“Is that so?” As Fred settled down on the rug between them, Sloan eased back in his chair to study his unwilling hostess.
After a humming ten seconds, she struggled not to fidget. “It was a natural enough mistake.”
“If you say so. What exactly are these emeralds you figured I was here to dig up?”
“The Calhoun emeralds.” When he only lifted a brow, she shook her head. “My great-grandmother’s emerald necklace. It’s been in all the papers.”
“I haven’t had much time to read the papers. I’ve been in Budapest.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long, slim cigar. “Mind?”
“Go ahead.” Automatically she rose to fetch an ashtray from across the room. Sloan considered it a pleasure to watch that out-of-my-way walk of hers. “I’m surprised Trent didn’t mention it.”
Sloan struck a match and took his sweet time lighting the cigar. He took an appreciative drag, then blew out a lazy stream of smoke. All the while, he was taking stock of the room, with its sagging sofa, the glistening Baccarat, the elegant old wainscoting and the peeling paint.
“I got a cable from Trent telling me about the house and his plans, and asking me to take it on.”
“You agreed to take a job like this without even seeing the property first?”
“Seemed like the thing to do at the time.” She sure had pretty eyes, Sloan thought. Suspicious, but pretty. He wondered how they’d look if he ever managed to get a smile out of her. “Besides, Trent wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think I’d get a kick out of it.”
Her foot began to tap as it did when she had sat in one place too long. “You know Trent well then?”
“We go back a few years. We were at Harvard together.”
“Harvard?” Her foot stopped tapping as she gaped at him. “You went to Harvard?”
Another man might have been insulted. Sloan was amused. “Why, shucks, ma’am,” he murmured, exaggerating his drawl, then watching her cheeks flush.
“I didn’t mean to... it’s just that you don’t really seem—”
“The Ivy League type?” he suggested before he took another pull on the cigar. “Guess appearances can be deceiving. Take the house here for instance.”
“The house?”
“You take your first look at it from the outside and it’s hard to figure if it’s supposed to be a fortress, a castle or an architect’s nightmare. But you take the time to look again, and you see it’s not supposed to be anything but what it is. A timeless piece of work, on the arrogant side, strong, maybe stubborn enough to hold its own, but with just enough fancy to add some charm.” He grinned at her. “Some people believe that a house reflects the personality of the people who live in it.”
He rose when Coco came back in wheeling a tray. “Oh, sit down, please. It’s such a treat to have a man in the house. Isn’t it, Mandy?”
“I’m all aflutter.”
“I hope the beer’s all right.” She lifted a brimming pilsner glass from the tray.
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Do try some of these canapés. Mandy, I’ve brought us some wine.” Delighted with the chance to socialize, she smiled at Sloan over the rim of her glass. “Has Amanda been telling you about the house?”
“We were just getting to it.” Sloan took a long swallow of beer. “Trent wrote that it’s been in the family since the early part of the century.”
“Oh, yes. With Suzanna’s children—Suzanna’s my eldest niece—we’ve had five generations of Calhouns at The Towers. Fergus”—she gestured to the portrait of a dour-faced man over the mantel—“my grandfather, built The Towers in 1904, as a summer home. He and his wife, Bianca, had three children before she threw herself out of the tower window.” As always, the idea of dying for love had her sighing. “I don’t believe Grandpapa was ever quite right after that. He went insane later in life, but we kept him in a very nice institution.”
“Aunt Coco, I’m sure Mr. O’Riley isn’t interested in the family history.”
