A Will and a Way

much less harmony. And yet…and yet he was close to being crazy about her. Knowing better than to try to go back to work, he rose and followed her downstairs.
    He found her in the parlor, rearranging packages under the tree. “How many have you shaken?”
    “All of them,” she said easily. But she didn’t turn because hemight have seen how pleased she was he’d come downstairs with her. “I don’t want to show any preference. Thing is,” she added, poking at an elegantly wrapped box, “I seem to have missed my present from you.”
    Michael gave her a bland smile. “Who says I got you anything?”
    “You would have been terribly rude and insensitive otherwise.”
    “Yep. In any case, you seem to’ve done well enough.” He crouched down to study the stacks of boxes under the tree. “Who’s Boris?” Idly he picked up a small silver box with flowing white ribbon.
    “A Russian cellist who defected. He admires my…gold links.”
    “I bet. And Roger?”
    “Roger Madison.”
    His mouth dropped open, but only for a moment. “The Yankee shortstop who batted .304 last year?”
    “That’s right. You may’ve noticed the silver band he wears on his right wrist. I made that for him last March. He seems to think it straightened out his bat or something.” She lifted the blue-and-gold box and shook it gently. “He tends to be very generous.”
    “I see.” Michael took a comprehensive study of the boxes. “There don’t seem to be a great many packages here for you from women.”
    “Really?” Pandora took a scan herself. “It appears you make up for that with your pile. Chi-Chi?” she asked as she picked up a box with a big pink bow.
    “She’s a marine biologist,” Michael said with his tongue in his cheek.
    “Fascinating. And I imagine Magda’s a librarian.”
    “Corporate attorney,” he said blandly.
    “Hmm. Well, whoever sent this one’s obviously shy.” She picked up a magnum of champagne with a glittering red ribbon. The tag read “Happy Holidays, Michael,” and nothing more.
    Michael scanned the label with approval. “Some people don’t want to advertise their generosity.”
    “How about you?” She tilted her head. “After all, it is a magnum. Are you going to share?”
    “With whom?”
    “I should’ve known you’d be greedy.” She picked up a box with her name on it. “Just for that I’m eating this entire box of imported chocolates myself.”
    Michael eyed the box. “How do you know they’re chocolates?”
    She only smiled. “Henri always gives me chocolate.”
    “Imported?”
    “Swiss.”
    Michael put out a hand. “Share and share alike.”
    Pandora accepted it. “I’ll chill the wine.”
     
    Hours later when there was starlight on the snow and a fire in the hearth, Pandora lit the tree. Like Michael, she didn’t miss any of the crowded, frenzied parties in the city. She was where she wanted to be. It had taken Pandora only a matter of weeks to discover she wasn’t as attached to the rush of the city as she’donce thought. The Folley was home. Hadn’t it always been? No, she no longer thought of going back to Manhattan in the spring. But what would it be like to live in the Folley alone?
    Michael wouldn’t stay. True, he’d own half of the Folley in a few months, but his life—including his active social life—was in the city. He wouldn’t stay, she thought again, and found herself annoyed with her own sense of regret. Why should he stay? she asked herself as she wandered over to poke at the already crackling fire. How could he stay? They couldn’t go on living together indefinitely. Sooner or later she’d have to approach him about her decision to remain there. To do so, she’d have to explain herself. It wouldn’t be easy.
    Still, she was grateful to Jolley for doing something she’d once resented. Boxing her in. She may have been forced into dealing with Michael on a day-to-day level, but in the few months she’d done so, her life had had more energy and interest than in the many months before. It was that, Pandora told herself, that she hated to give up.
    She’d dealt with her attraction to him semisuccessfully. The fact was, he was no more her type than she was his. She jammed hard at a log. From all the many reports, Michael preferred a more flamboyant, exotic sort of woman. Actresses, dancers, models. And he preferred them in droves. She, on the other hand, looked for more intellectual men. The men she spent time with could discuss