Summer Of Joanna

He’d obviously been about to enter the elevator, but turned on his heel to follow her into the reception area.

“Miss, uh…”

“Reilly.”

“I don’t know if you remember me—Matt Sinclair, from Joanna’s funeral.”

“It was only four days ago.”

He looked offended at her brusque tone. “Right. So you’re here for…?”

Kate flushed with annoyance. Subtlety definitely wasn’t his style. “I’ve an appointment with Collier and Associates. Why do you ask?”

“Sorry. I suppose I’m being rude, but I’m just curious. Are you here for the reading of Joanna’s will?”

Kate raised her chin to stare directly into his face. A handsome face, in spite of the knotted eyebrows and the glint in his eyes. Too bad he was so irritating.

“Yes, I am, Mr. Sinclair. Not that it’s any concern of yours.” She started to walk toward the reception desk where a young woman was watching them with interest.

He reached out a hand to her elbow. “I take it, then, that you’re more than just an acquaintance of Joanna’s, after all. Since you’re a beneficiary.”

Kate stared blankly at him. She’d been tormented by that very realization all night. What exactly was I to Joanna? But she wasn’t about to confide in someone like Matt Sinclair.

“And I suppose, since you were about to leave, that you are not. A beneficiary,” she clarified, and looked pointedly at his fingers splayed lightly on her arm.

Coloring, he dropped his hand. “No. I’ve been to see Marchant—his offices are farther along.”

Kate swung around to head for the desk.

“You just seemed different, that’s all.”

She stopped and faced him again.

“From Joanna’s pack of friends,” he said.

Kate’s eyes swept over him from head to toe before she resumed her course to the receptionist and asked for Mr. Collier. From behind, she heard the elevator door open and close. When she turned to head for the man’s office, Matt Sinclair was gone.

The brief walk down the hall was long enough to calm her, although Kate knew her face was still warm when she tapped on the lawyer’s opened office door.

“Miss Reilly? Come in, please.” Greg Collier rose from his desk chair.

He was in his mid-fifties and had the air of a suave used-car salesman. Or so Kate thought after a mere five minutes into their conversation. When he asked her if she’d known Joanna long, she derived some satisfaction from his surprise when she replied, “About nineteen years.” She followed him into a small boardroom where a handful of people sat around an oval mahogany table. Lance Marchant was pouring coffee from a stainless-steel jug at the head of the table and glanced up as Kate walked into the room.

Her arrival appeared to puzzle him momentarily, but he recovered almost instantly, setting down the jug and beaming in her direction.

“Kate Reilly?”

When she nodded, he moved around the chairs to her side, extending his right hand as he did so. “I’m Lance Marchant, Joanna’s husband.”

“Yes,” she murmured.

He frowned, studying her face. “Have we met?”

“I was at Joanna’s funeral,” she explained.

“Aah.” He nodded his head thoughtfully, obviously conducting a quick mental search of the day and still coming up blank. He was about to say something more when Joanna’s lawyer went to the head of the table, pushing aside the tray of coffee items as he withdrew a sheaf of papers from a briefcase. He put on his reading glasses cleared his throat and gestured toward the table.

“Shall we begin?” he asked, pausing while Lance returned to his chair and Kate sat down. “As all of you know, you’ve been requested to be here today for the reading of the late Joanna Barnes’s will, dated April 1, 2001.” He glanced over the rim of his glasses to smile. “Yes, that was Joanna’s idea of a little joke, though she assured me the will’s contents were quite serious.” He then began to read the legal preamble and Kate found her attention shifting to the others around the table.

Lance Marchant took a place to the right of Greg Collier. The lawyer’s secretary sat on his left and was jotting on a steno pad. The elderly woman sitting across from Kate had been introduced as Joanna’s housekeeper, and the thin, nervous-looking man with an earring in his right ear and a designer scarf knotted with a flourish around his neck had been her assistant at the fashion magazine where Joanna had worked as staff writer for the past five years.

Where were her other friends? Kate wondered. All the people she’d seen draped around Joanna in the newspaper and magazine pictures she’d clipped over the years? And family?

Kate peered down at her hands, clenched together on her lap. Her eyes filled with tears—as much for herself as Joanna. She’d thought herself immune to the sense of alienation that having no family produced. But here it was again, her pain on display for this roomful of strangers.

If only Joanna had called, made some kind of personal contact. But then what? Would we have had a real friendship? Would it have been a substitute for the family I’ve never had?

She chomped on her lower lip, forcing her mind back to Collier’s recitation of the will. There was a mild gasp from the older woman when the lawyer revealed Joanna’s bequest of a few thousand dollars. Likewise for the assistant, who received a smaller sum and all of Joanna’s office furniture and equipment. Kate almost missed her own name, except that everyone at the table looked at her.

“‘To my dear friend and co-conspirator, Kate Reilly, I leave Camp Limberlost and all its assets, in hope that she will rediscover the magic of a summer long ago. Kate, I can’t tell you how much our contact over the years has meant to me, and wish you all the best for a wonderful life. I have complete confidence in your continued success.”’

Kate stared blankly at the others. She was stunned as much by Joanna’s personal message as by the bequest. Tears welled up again and someone handed her a tissue, with which she quickly dabbed at her eyes. Joanna’s lawyer was clearing his throat again, waiting a discreet moment before continuing.

The rest of Joanna’s estate had been left to Lance Marchant. Through the labyrinth of legalese, Kate gathered that Joanna hadn’t owned very much personally beyond whatever she’d possessed jointly with her husband. When Greg Collier was finished, he asked the beneficiaries to stay behind long enough to sign some papers. While the housekeeper and assistant were doing so, Lance Marchant sidled over to Kate.

Still reeling from the will, Kate missed the first part of his comment.

“Sorry?” She blinked.

He smiled. “I said that I’d no idea Joanna had such a good friend in someone so young. She seldom discussed her friends, unfortunately.”

Unsure what he meant, Kate gave a tentative smile. What was he really thinking after learning his wife had left property to a virtual stranger?

She was saved from responding when Greg Collier approached with some documents. “Miss Reilly? Congratulations,” he said, as if Kate had just won a lottery. “If I can get you to sign these papers…”

“Of course,” she murmured. “Then I have some questions for you, if you don’t mind.” She went through the motions, still disbelieving the whole morning from the moment she’d stepped off the elevator into Matt Sinclair’s insinuating face. She was half aware of Lance chatting politely to the housekeeper and assistant while seeing them to the door. When she finished signing on all the lines Greg Collier had indicated, she looked up at the two men smiling benignly down at her.

“Well, then,” Collier said, rubbing his hands together, “more coffee, anyone?”

“Please,” Lance replied, pulling out a chair across from Kate.

Collier spoke softly to his secretary, who took the papers Kate and the others had signed and left, closing the door behind her. “Coffee, Miss Reilly?”

She felt she was being set up for something. “Yes, thank you,” she said, waiting while the lawyer poured and handed round the coffee with a tray of cream and sugar. Then she spoke, deciding not to let the two men take the lead. “I’m as puzzled by Joanna’s bequest as I’m sure you both are. Although I met her nineteen years ago, I haven’t seen her since. We corresponded only sporadically.”

Greg nodded at Lance, then at Kate. “That’s pretty much what Joanna explained when she had me draw up this will in the spring.”

Kate flushed at the knowledge that people had been discussing her.

“I’m sure you must have some questions about the property,” he continued, stopping as Kate began to shake her head.

“Actually, I’ve questions about Joanna’s death that I’m hoping—” she glanced quickly at Lance, then back to the lawyer “—neither of you will mind answering.”

The smile disappeared from Collier’s face. He sat down beside Lance, who was staring into his coffee cup. “Of course, Miss Reilly,” he said. “Ask away.”

“It’s just that, you see, Joanna and I had this promise to meet on July 14. It was meant to celebrate our meeting nineteen years ago. W-well,” she stammered under Collier’s blank look, “it’s a long story and I won’t bore you with it. I just can’t believe that she’d…she’d commit suicide, knowing how much the reunion meant to both of us.” She stopped, unable to continue.

Someone cleared a throat—Collier, Kate guessed. But it was Lance who spoke. “Kate, I understand what you’re saying. I’ve been tormenting myself with the same doubts. I’d always considered Joanna and I to be the perfect match for each other. I loved her deeply, and I know she was very happy with me. That’s what makes it so hard for me to believe she could…”

Kate’s ears burned. This statement from a bereaved husband made her own disbelief sound like pathetic whimpering. She kept her head down, unable to look either of them in the eye.

Collier broke the silence. “As much as we all want to have an answer for this…tragic situation, sometimes there just isn’t one that we can accept with any degree of comprehension.” He paused, then continued, “Now, about this piece of property, Miss Reilly. I’m not certain of the current market value because I understand that it’s been closed as a resort for several years. Most likely you’ll want to sell it, and I’d be happy to have someone give you an estimate of its worth.”

Kate’s head shot up. “Oh! I…I’ve scarcely had time to think about even owning Camp Limberlost, much less selling it.”

Collier chuckled. “I suppose all this does take time, but the summer will be the best season to show the property and all its potential.” He looked to Lance for agreement.

Lance simply nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on Kate. He wasn’t signaling his feelings about the camp either way, Kate realized. She had no idea how he felt about her inheriting it. Tongue-tied, she stared at the men.

“Owning it will most likely prove to be a greater disadvantage than asset,” Collier added. His voice dripped like honey from a spoon.

“I know Joanna hasn’t spent any time there since her father died almost eight years ago. And he closed it down a couple years before that, so…” Lance shrugged.

“I’ve heard the whole area has gone downhill,” Collier said, glancing at Lance and shaking his head. “Too bad. I understand it was once a prime resort.”

“I think so,” Lance murmured. He smiled across the table at Kate. “You’ll want to take a few days for this,” he assured her. “To let it all sink in. Believe me, as a developer, I know only too well what a headache owning a piece of property can be. Especially land and buildings that have been neglected. Let Greg—or me—know as soon as possible. We’ll help you get the best possible price for it.”

Collier nodded heartily. “Always available.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “Now, if you’ll pardon me, I must get back to work.”

Kate struggled to her feet. These two were good, she decided. If they shoved a dotted line at her at that moment, she was certain she’d sign without a second glance. Except for a sudden clarifying thought. If Joanna willed Camp Limberlost to me, she must have really wanted me to have it. So no way am I going to give it up that easily.

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Collier. I promise to get back to you as soon as is realistically possible.”

He patted her arm. “You do that, my dear,” he said, and left the room.

Kate reached for her purse, slung across the back of her chair. She felt Marchant’s eyes on her and, when she straightened, knew from the amusement in his face that her own was beet red.

“Collier can be…well, shall I say, a bit paternal.”

“Is he a personal friend?” Kate asked.

“Only socially—he’s my lawyer, too, of course.”

“Oh,” she murmured.

“Which doesn’t mean that I can’t be objective about all this.” He waved his hand into the room.

Confused, Kate followed the movement.

“The will—the inheritances and so on,” he explained. “Joanna and I agreed when we got married that we’d each hold on to our own assets. Of course—” his voice dropped and he lowered his head “—we’d been discussing any future possibility of divorce, not…death.” When he raised his head, his eyes were red-rimmed and tired. He managed a faint smile. “You obviously meant a lot to Joanna for her to include you in her will. And I know at some point in time that camp of her parents must have been worth a lot. It’s just that—” he paused to shake his head “—Joanna was sometimes prone to what we used to call flights of fancy. A real romantic.”

Kate felt herself nod, though she wasn’t certain she agreed. The Joanna she remembered had seemed to have both feet firmly planted in the real world and to know exactly what she wanted.

“At any rate, I think the occasion of an inheritance, whatever that inheritance may be, is cause for celebration. I’d be honored if you’d be my guest for lunch.”

The invitation capped a morning of surprises. Kate heard herself consent before she had time to even process the invitation. As she left the boardroom, Lance Marchant’s hand guiding her at the small of her back, she had the feeling she’d played her cards exactly the way the two men had anticipated.

CHAPTER THREE

PARTWAY THROUGH LUNCH, Kate felt herself begin to unwind. She sipped her white wine, chosen after much deliberation by Lance. The ritual had amused Kate. She knew little about wine and was certain her own choice would have been based strictly on cost. The meal was impeccable, too. Another score for Lance, who was obviously a regular at the upscale restaurant, one Kate had read about in the papers, never imagining she might be eating in it some day.

In fact, there’d been so much deference shown to Lance as soon as they’d stepped inside that Kate began to wonder if he was a celebrity in his own right, regardless of his connection to Joanna Barnes. She pondered this throughout the salad course, racking her brain to determine where and when she’d seen or heard his name. She also scolded herself sharply for not reading the papers more carefully. Headlines were her specialty, along with a skim through the fashion and entertainment pages.

She began to think that maybe Lance Marchant was okay, after all, in spite of his smooth manner. Before ordering, they’d made small talk, discreetly skirting around the morning’s events as if none of the business of death had taken place.

As the salad plates were removed, Lance referred to Camp Limberlost and Kate thought, here we go again. But rather than renew his pitch for selling it, he’d asked what she recalled of the camp.

“I didn’t like it at the time—not until I met Joanna.”

“She was there? When was this, exactly?”

“Nineteen years ago this month. What year would that be?” She screwed up her face, mentally counting backward.

“It would have been 1982.”

Kate laughed. “That was fast. You should be teaching my grade eight math class.”

He gave a dismissive shrug. “I use numbers all the time in my job. Were you there with your family?”

“No. I was with a bunch of kids from here in the city. Courtesy of a joint social-service program and the generosity of Joanna’s parents.”

Marchant frowned. “Oh. You mean like…”

“Kids with problems. Not delinquents,” she added quickly, noting the expression in his face. “But, you know, kids at risk.”

He nodded. “I don’t mean to be nosy. Just didn’t realize Joanna’s parents were into that sort of thing.”

Kate was tempted to ask, “Like charity?” but sensed he really wasn’t being insensitive. Besides, she wanted to think she’d grown out of all that stuff—the feelings of defensiveness, of apologizing for being an orphan on the social welfare register.

“Did you know Joanna then?” she asked.

He nodded. “Joanna and I go—went—a long way back. But we weren’t dating or anything. Just friends.”

“Have you ever been to Limberlost?”

“I’m a city man. My idea of a holiday is a resort on some Caribbean island, five-star and all-inclusive.”

She joined in his laughter. “You and Joanna both, I’m sure.”

His face sobered. “Yes, for sure. That’s why I can’t figure out her being there. She always talked about how she’d made the Great Escape.”

“I remember her mentioning that she was between husbands then. I thought that was such a daring thing to say—to a kid, I mean.”

Lance opened his mouth as if to add something, but the waiter arrived with their main courses and the next few moments were devoted to murmurings about the food. Kate had almost forgotten what they’d been discussing when he asked, toward the end of the meal, “Do you remember much about that summer? How old would you have been? Don’t answer if you consider that a rude question,” he said, grinning.

The way he put it, refusing to answer would seem childish. “I was turning twelve in August. That’s why we decided to meet this year.” Kate angled her fork across her plate and leaned forward. “I was on the verge of adolescence and Joanna had just turned thirty. We’d been moaning about our problems and getting older et cetera and she said, wouldn’t it be great to meet when we were both at another milestone? To compare notes on how things had turned out.”

“I guess your memory of the place wouldn’t be very vivid.”

Kate laughed. “Oh, it’s pretty vivid even now, trust me.”

“How do you mean?”

She shrugged, unsure whether she really wanted to trip down memory lane with someone she scarcely knew. “I wasn’t really having a good time there until I met Joanna. I was a typical city kid, afraid of everything with more than two legs. Plus the other kids had been there before and knew one another,” she said.

“Aah,” he murmured sympathetically.

The waiter appeared to gather the rest of the plates and asked if they’d like dessert or coffee. Lance looked questioningly at Kate.

“No thanks, Mr. Marchant. I should be going.” Kate looked at her watch, realizing she hadn’t called Carla yet. So much for setting an example.

He asked for the bill and, turning back to Kate, said, “Please call me Lance. And I insist on driving you home. My car is being brought up to the front door by the valet right now.”

Knowing she’d get home much faster than by subway, Kate agreed. She’d hoped to glean more information about Joanna over lunch, but as they left, she realized Lance Marchant had been doing most of the asking. Perhaps the ride back home would elicit something about Joanna she hadn’t yet read in a newspaper.

A blast of heat greeted their exit from the restaurant. Lance tipped the valet, who’d driven up with his red convertible sports car.

“Where are we going?” Lance’s face was smilingly inquisitive.

“I live in SoHo. On a dead-end street off Bleecker, near Sullivan.”

His tanned forehead crinkled in thought. “Near the university?”

“Past.”

“Fine. The drive’ll be longer than to the restaurant, but you don’t seem to be the type to worry about a hairdo,” Lance said. He ushered her into her seat, got behind the wheel and shifted into Drive. The car jerked forward and squealed out of the parking circle. He was laughing when he braked at the first stoplight. “Sorry again. I’ve just had it tuned prior to selling it. Joanna doesn’t—didn’t—like it, and my campaign manager advised that I drive something a little more sedate.”

“Your campaign manager?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m running for Congress in the fall election. Lance Marchant? Republican ticket?” he added, obviously trying to jolt her memory.

Kate was embarrassed at her ignorance. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t keep up much with politics.”

He stared at her thoughtfully until the light changed, then shifted gears again. The breeze and traffic noise made conversation impossible, eliminating Kate’s hope of talking more about Joanna.

But when the car slowed for a traffic halt, she managed to say, “The reason I find it hard to believe Joanna would…would commit suicide is not just because of our meeting, but I read in a gossip column that she was expected to be made editor of Vogue. That would’ve been the pinnacle of her career. I just can’t believe that…”

Lance took his hand off the gear knob and patted her arm. “I’ve tortured myself with these same doubts, Kate, believe me. Perhaps she learned that she didn’t get the job, after all. Certainly no one there has called to express sympathy. That must mean something.” He paused then, having to move with traffic. Other than shouted directions about getting to Kate’s neighborhood, all talk ceased until Lance pulled up in front of the row house where her flat was.

“Wait!” Lance said after Kate thanked him for the lunch and ride.

She turned, halfway through the opened door. His wind-tousled hair and trendy sunglasses made him seem dashing and much younger than his years, she thought. He had the kind of classic good looks that appealed to women of all ages, and Kate suddenly realized she herself wasn’t immune to his charms herself. Well-established, well-dressed, trim and self-assured. But there was more. The gallant and attentive manner, the way he’d seemed to hang on to every word she’d uttered over lunch. He certainly fit the image of a winning politician.

“There is something,” he said, glancing quickly away when he’d caught her attention.

She watched him clench and unclench his hands around the steering wheel. Finally he murmured, “The thing is, Joanna and I hadn’t really been living as, well, as man and wife—if you get my drift—for several months. And as hard as I try, I can’t pinpoint a reason for it. She was incredibly involved with her work, but that was nothing new. I had my own business to run, too. I think it all started when I decided to run for Congress. She was supportive, of course, but part of her seemed negative about the whole thing.” He shrugged, helpless. “Maybe the thought of all the limelight—”

“Joanna loved the limelight!” Kate blurted. “At least, I’m sure she did. She often sent me press clippings of herself.”

Kate could see her house reflected in his sunglasses. She wished she could see his eyes, to read what he was feeling.

“That she did,” he agreed. “But on her terms. She knew how to manipulate the media, as many celebrities do. Inside, she was an intensely private person.”

It wasn’t the picture of Joanna that Kate had in her memory, but she could see how it fit with other facts. There’d only been a single card every year, even though Joanna had spent most of the nineteen years in the same city as Kate. And the few references to a personal life in those cards had been mainly a repetition of what Kate had already gathered from the media. The week with Joanna at Camp Limberlost had revealed more about the woman than the following two decades. The impact of that realization struck Kate with physical pain. Because now it was all too late. Tears edged her eyes and she averted her face. She wiped the corners of her eyes with her index finger.

“Kate?”

When she turned his way, it was her own drawn face she was seeing now in his sunglasses.

“Give me a call about the property as soon as possible. Don’t leave it too late. Summer’s prime showing season for lake properties. And, uh, whatever you decide, I hope we can see each other again. Soon.”