A Will and a Way

the master. She’d soon put an end to that. Uncle Jolley’s will had been very clear. Share and share alike.
    “Since you’re already here and settled in, you can come help me with the rest of my bags.”
    He didn’t budge. “I always thought the one point we were in perfect agreement on was feminism.”
    Pandora paused at the door to toss a look over her shoulder. “Social and political views aside, if you don’t help me up with them before Charles comes back, he’ll insist on doing it himself. He’s too old to do it and too proud to be told he can’t.” She walked back out and wasn’t surprised when she heard his footsteps on the gravel behind her.
    She took a deep breath of crisp autumn air. All in all, it was a lovely day. “Drive up early?”
    “Actually, I drove up late last night.”
    Pandora turned at the open trunk of her car. “So eager to start the game, Michael?”
    If he hadn’t been determined to start off peacefully, he’d have found fault with the tone of her voice, with the look in her eyes. Instead he let it pass. “I wanted to get my office set up today. I was just finishing it when you drove in.”
    “Work, work, work,” she said with a long sigh. “You must put in slavish hours to come up with an hour of chase scenes and steam a week.”
    Peace wasn’t all that important. As she reached for a suitcase, he closed a hand over her wrist. Later he’d think about how slim it was, how soft. Now he could only think how much he wished she were a man. Then he could’ve belted her. “The amount of work I do and what I produce is of absolutely no concern to you.”
    It occurred to Pandora, oddly, she thought, just how much she enjoyed seeing him on the edge of temper. All of her other relatives were so bland, so outwardly civilized. Michael had always been a contrast, and therefore of more interest. Smiling, she allowed her wrist to stay limp.
    “Did I indicate that it was? Nothing, I promise you, could be further from the truth. Shall we get these in and have that tea? It’s a bit chilly.”
    He’d always admired, grudgingly, how smoothly she could slip into the lady-of-the-manor routine. As a writer who wrote for actors and for viewers, he appreciated natural talent. He also knew how to set a scene to his best advantage. “Tea’s a perfect idea.” He hauled one case out and left the second for her. “We’ll establish some guidelines.”
    “Will we?” Pandora pulled out the case, then let the trunk shut quietly. Without another word, she started back toward the house, holding the front door open for him, then breezing by the suitcase she’d left in the main hall. Because she knew Michael was fond of Charles, she hadn’t a doubt he’d pick it up and follow.
    The room she always took was on the second floor in the east wing. Jolley had let her decorate it herself, and she’d chosen white on white with a few startling splashes of color. Chartreuseand blazing blue in throw pillows, a long horizontal oil painting, jarring in its colors of sunset, a crimson waist-high urn stuffed with ostrich plumes.
    Pandora set her case by the bed, noted with satisfaction that a fire had been laid in the small marble fireplace, then tossed her jacket over a chair.
    “I always feel like I’m walking into Better Homes ,” he commented as he let her cases drop.
    Pandora glanced down at them briefly, then at him. “I’m sure you’re more at home in your own room. It’s more— Field and Stream . I expect tea’s ready.”
    He gave her a long, steady survey. Her jacket had concealed the trim cashmere sweater tucked into the narrow waist of her slacks. It reminded Michael quite forcibly just what had begun to attract him all those teenage years ago. For the second time he found himself wishing she were a man.
    Though they walked abreast down the stairs, they didn’t speak. In the drawing room, amid the Mideast opulence Jolley had chosen there, Charles was setting up the tea service.
    “Oh, you lit the fire. How lovely.” Pandora walked over and began warming her hands. She wanted a moment, just a moment, because for an instant in her room she thought she’d seen something in Michael’s eyes. And she thought she’d felt the same something in response. “I’ll pour, Charles. I’m sure Michael and I won’t need another thing until dinner.”
    Casually she glanced around the room, at the flowing drapes, the curvy brocade sofas, the plump pillows and brass urns. “You know, this