Her Own Rules

“The soup sounds great. You make the best, and they’re usually a meal in themselves. I’m sure Jonas is hungry after the long drive, so perhaps you’d offer him the soup too, and some sandwiches.”

“I will.”

Pete came in with Meredith’s overnight bag and briefcase. “Jonas has gone to park the car,” he explained. “I’ll take these upstairs.”

“Thanks, Pete,” Meredith said.

“I’ve put you in the toile de Jouy suite,” Blanche told her, “because I know how much you like it. Now, do you want a tray up there? Or shall I bring it to the bar parlor?”

“I’ll have it down here in the parlor, thanks, Blanche,” Meredith said, peering into the room that opened off the inn’s large entrance hall. “I see you have a fire going…that’s nice. I think I’ll make myself a drink. Would you like one, Blanche?”

“Why not. I’ll join you in a vodka and tonic. But first let me go and fix a tray for Jonas, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She hurried off in the direction of the kitchen.

Meredith went into the bar parlor, glancing around as she strolled over to the huge stone hearth at the far end of the room. The fire burning brightly, the red carpet, the red velvet sofas and tub chairs covered in red and cream linen, gave the parlor a warm, rosy feeling. This was further enhanced by the red brocade curtains at the leaded windows, the polished mahogany paneled walls, and the red shades on the wall sconces. It was a slightly masculine room in feeling and rather English in overtone; there was a mellowness about it that Meredith had always liked.

The carved mahogany bar was to the left of the fireplace, facing the leaded windows. Meredith went behind it, took two glasses, added ice, and poured a good measure of Stolichnaya Cristal into each one. She smiled to herself when she noticed the small plate of lime wedges next to the ice bucket. Blanche had second-guessed her very accurately. Her old friend had known she would have her drink in here. The bar parlor had always been a favorite spot of hers in the inn, as it was with everyone, because it was so intimate and cozy. And conducive to drinking. Jack had been smart when he had created the bar parlor.

Once she had made the drinks, Meredith went over to the fireplace. She stood with her back to it, enjoying the warmth, sipping her vodka, relaxing as she waited for Blanche, whom she thought had never looked better. If there was a tiny fleck of silver in her bright red hair, she was, nonetheless, as slim as she had been as a girl, and the merry dark-brown eyes were as lively as ever. She’s wearing well, Meredith thought, very well indeed.

The two women, who were the same age, had been friends for twenty-four years. Blanche had come to Silver Lake Inn two years after Meredith had taken the job as the receptionist. She had started as a pastry chef in the kitchens, had soon been promoted to chef, since she was an inspired cook. Blanche had enjoyed working in the kitchens until she married Pete, who had always managed the estate for the Silvers, and became pregnant with Billy.

By then Meredith was running the inn, and she offered Blanche the job of assistant manager. Blanche had been delighted to accept the offer at once, glad to be out of the heat, relieved not to lift heavy pots and pans, and thrilled to be able to continue working at the inn.

These days she and Pete ran Silver Lake Inn together and were responsible for its overall management as well as the upkeep of the entire estate. She’s been good for this place, Meredith mused. She’s as passionate about it as I am, and it shows everywhere, and in everything she does.

Blanche interrupted her musings, walking rapidly into the bar parlor, saying, “By the way, you’re not going to believe this, but we’re rather busy this coming weekend. All the rooms are taken. And several suites. Unusual for January, I must say, but I’m not complaining.”

“I’m delighted, and in some ways it’s not that surprising. A lot of people do like being in the country in the snowy weather, and this place has such a great reputation. Thanks, in no uncertain terms, to you and Pete. I do appreciate all you both do, Blanche.”

“We love the inn, you know that.”

“By the way, Catherine sends her love to you and Pete.”

Blanche smiled. “And give her ours. How is she, Meredith?”

“As wonderful as always, and doing so well with her work; she’s turned out to be a fine illustrator. And, of course, she’s madly in love.”

“With Keith Pearson?”

Meredith nodded. “She told you?”

“Yes, when you were all here at Thanksgiving.”

“I think it’s become rather serious.”

“Are we looking forward to a wedding?” Blanche asked, staring at Meredith quizzically.

“I think so…I’m pretty sure.”

“You will have it here, won’t you?”

“Where else, Blanche? Cat was born here, grew up here, and so I’m certain she’ll want to be married here. And it is the perfect setting.”

“Oh I can’t wait to start planning it!” Blanche cried, taking a sip of her drink. “Cheers. And here’s to Cat and the wedding.”

“The wedding,” Meredith said, and lifted her glass as Blanche was doing. She wondered if it was bad luck to drink to something so prematurely.

“Marquees. We’ll have to have marquees,” Blanche said, gazing into space, obviously already envisioning the reception.

“But they’ll no doubt get married in the summer,” Meredith pointed out.

“Yes, I know. June probably, every girl wants to be a June bride. But it can rain up here at that time of year, you know that as well as I do, and it’s best to be safe. Oh it’ll be great, though. We’ll do wonderful flowers and table settings. And a special menu. Oh it’s going to be fabulous. Leave it all to me.”

Meredith laughed. “I’m happy to, my darling Blanche.”

“Good.” Blanche sipped her drink, and then suddenly she looked across at Meredith and said, “Do you ever hear from David?”

“David Layton?” Meredith asked, slightly surprised.

“Yes.”

“Rarely. Why do you ask?”

“I thought of him just now…have you forgotten that you married him here and that I did the entire wedding?”

“No, I hadn’t,” Meredith said slowly, and began to shake her head. “Funny, isn’t it, how someone’s name is rarely, if ever, mentioned, and then it comes up twice in one day.”

“Who else mentioned David?”

“Catherine. When we were talking on the phone earlier this evening. She asked me if I’d been crazy in love with him, or words to that effect.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told her the truth. I said that I hadn’t.”

“Of course not. You were only crazily in love once, and that was with her father.”

Meredith was silent.

“Have you ever wondered what your life would have been like if he hadn’t—”

“I really don’t want to discuss it,” Meredith snapped, cutting in peremptorily. Then she bit her lip, looking chagrined. “I’m sorry, Blanche, I didn’t mean to bite your head off like that, it’s just that I prefer to leave that particular subject matter alone tonight. It’s been a long day and I don’t really feel like delving into the tragedies of the past.”

Blanche smiled gently. “It’s my fault. I brought it up and I shouldn’t have…now you’re looking sad…I’ve upset you.”

“No, you haven’t, I promise you, Blanche.”

Deeming it wiser to change the subject, Blanche put down her drink and said, “By the way, we’re going to have to order new carpet for the toile de Jouy suite, and the blue room. There’s been some leaks this winter, and the carpets are damaged. I hate to tell you this, but there’s also been a leak in your bedroom in the house. I’ll show you tomorrow. I’m afraid you’ll have to replace the carpet there as well.”

“These things happen, Blanche, we know that from years of experience. And even after we put in new roofs last year. I’ll call Gary at Stark tomorrow, before I go to London. He’s got everything on the computer, so it won’t be a problem.” Meredith frowned. “The carpets were from the standard lines, weren’t they?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Blanche said, and then began to walk toward the door. “It’s getting late. I’m going to the kitchen to bring you that bowl of soup.”

Meredith put down her glass and followed her. “I’ll eat in the kitchen, Blanche, it’s much easier.”

CHAPTER THREE

Hilltops, the inn Meredith owned near Sharon, was built on top of a hill, as its name suggested. The site was the highest point above Lake Wononpakook, and the views from the inn’s windows were spectacular: endless miles of lake and sky and wooded hills, with hardly another structure in evidence on the expansive land.

The inn started out as a mansion, the summer retreat of one of America’s great tycoons, who built it in the late 1930s, sparing no expense. He and his family spent summers there until his death in the mid sixties, when it was sold.

When Meredith bought it in 1981 it had been an inn for almost twenty years, and it was already well established. But it was her stylish refurbishing and the two new restaurants she created that gave it a certain cachet and put it on the map.

Hilltops evoked images of Switzerland in her mind, and turning to Paul Ince, who was the manager of the inn, she said, “I feel as if I’m looking down on Lake Geneva this morning, Paul.”

He laughed and answered, “I know what you mean, I always get the sensation of being in the Swiss Alps myself, especially in winter.”

Meredith had arrived at Hilltops fifteen minutes earlier, and the two of them stood together in the inn’s lovely old pine-paneled library, waiting for the Morrisons to arrive for the meeting.

Glancing out of the window again, Meredith murmured, “All this snow. It really came down this year, but it doesn’t seem to have affected business, does it?”

“No, not at all, Meredith. Well, I shouldn’t say that. As you know, we did have a few problems last week, and had to close the restaurants for a few days. But we soon got rid of the snow, once the bulldozer was up on the main road here. When it was shifted we were fine.” He paused, turned to her. “And we are fine,” he reassured her.

“What are your bookings like for the weekend?” she asked.

“Pretty good, twelve out of the fifteen rooms are taken. And both restaurants are almost full. Local trade as well as the hotel guests.”

Paul cleared his throat, briefly hesitating, and then said, “I know you’ll be able to sell this place, Meredith. Whether it’s to the Morrisons or someone else, because it’s such a good buy. And I just wanted to say this now…I’m really going to miss working with you. You’ve always been great, such a wonderful boss.”

“That’s nice of you to say so, Paul, thank you. And I’ve enjoyed working with you all these years. And I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re definitely a big part of the inn’s success, you’ve put so much of yourself into it, built up the business so well. And as I told you earlier, if the Morrisons do end up taking it over, I’m sure they’ll want you to stay on. If you want to, that is.”

“I do, and when they were over here last weekend they indicated they felt the same way.”

“What’re your feelings about them? About their intentions, Paul?”

“They’re more than interested, Meredith. I’d say they are extremely eager to get their hands on Hilltops, as I told Blanche the other day. It’s apparently what they’ve wanted for the last few years…a country inn in Connecticut, far away from the hectic pace of New York City and the rat race of Wall Street and Madison Avenue. New careers for them both. New lifestyles for them and their kids.”

“I didn’t know they had children,” Meredith said, frowning. “Does that mean they’d want to live in the cottage? Your cottage?”

Paul shook his head. “No, Mrs. Morrison’s indicated that they’re going to keep their house in Lakeville. But if they did want the cottage, Anne and I could always move into the inn until that apartment over the garage was made livable.”

Meredith nodded her understanding; she walked over to the fireplace, where she sat down, poured herself another cup of coffee. “Do you want a second cup, Paul?”

“Yes, please.” Paul joined her by the fireside.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking their coffee, lost in their own thoughts. It was Meredith who spoke first, when she said, “As you know, the asking price for the inn is four million dollars, and so far I’ve not budged from that figure. Between us, I would come down a bit, just to make the sale. What’s your assessment of them regarding the price?”

“It’s hard to say,” Paul replied, looking thoughtful. After a moment or two’s reflection, he went on. “I’d stick to your guns for a bit and see what happens. But just be mentally prepared to accept three million.”

She shook her head. “No way, Paul, I’ve got to get three and a half million, at least. Anyway, the inn’s worth that…in fact, it’s worth four. My real estate people actually valued it at four and a half.”

“But you’ve always said to me that someone’s got to want to buy a property to make it a viable holding, an asset.”

“I know, I know, but I really do need three and a half million dollars for my expansion program,” Meredith said, putting her cup down with a clatter. “The two inns in Europe are going to cost money, and I’d like to have something left over from this sale for operating costs and to plow back into Havens.”

“Look, Meredith, I’m sure the Morrisons are quite well placed. He’s worked on Wall Street for years, and she’s been one of the partners in an ad agency on Madison Avenue. In any case, when you meet them, talk to them, you’ll be able to judge for yourself what the freight can bear.”

“Too true…why try to second guess?”

There was a knock on the door, and as Paul called, “Come in!” it opened.

The receptionist looked in and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Morrison have arrived.”

Paul nodded. “Show them in, Doris, please.”

Several seconds later Paul was introducing Elizabeth and Philip Morrison to Meredith. Once the handshakes were over, they all sat down in the chairs near the fire.

Meredith said, “Can I offer you something? Coffee, tea, a soda, perhaps?”

“No, thank you,” Mrs. Morrison said.

Her husband shook his head and murmured something about just having had breakfast. Then he began to speak to Paul about the weather, the snow on the roads, and the drive over from Lakeville, where they owned a weekend home.

Mrs. Morrison looked across at Meredith and said, “I love the way you’ve decorated Hilltops…it’s so charming and intimate. It reminds me of an English country house.”

“Thank you,” Meredith said, smiling at the other woman. “I like decorating, creating a look, an ambiance. And lots of comfort for the guests, of course. I think an inn should be a haven, that’s why I called my company Havens Incorporated.”

Elizabeth Morrison nodded. “Very apt, very apt indeed. And I think all of your little touches are wonderful. The hot water bottles in silk cases, the special reading lights by the bed, the afghans on the chaises, little luxuries like that make all the difference.”

“That’s what I believe,” Meredith murmured, “and that’s my policy in all of the inns we own.”

“We’ve always wanted to run an inn like this,” Mrs. Morrison confided. “And now’s the time to do it, when we’re both still young. Also, we want to get out of the city, bring up our three children in the country. The city’s become so violent, hard to take in general.”

“I understand. I raised two children in Connecticut, and I’ve always felt lucky that I was able to do so. As you know, since you’ve been residents up here for a few years, there are plenty of good schools. Yes, it’s a great spot for a family.”

Elizabeth Morrison was about to say something else, when she caught her husband’s warning look; she simply cleared her throat and sat back in her chair, having suddenly become a mere spectator at this meeting.

Meredith, who missed nothing, noticed this infinitesimal exchange. She understood immediately that Philip Morrison did not want his wife saying any more. Nor did he wish her to sound too enthusiastic about the inn. He wanted her to play it cool. As he had been doing all along. He was obviously ready to deal.

Not giving him an opportunity to start the ball rolling, Meredith jumped in with both feet.

Staring directly at him, fixing him with an appraising eye, she said, “I know you’ve been back to look at Hilltops many times now, and that you both like it. The question is, do you really want to buy it?”

“Yes,” Philip Morrison said. “At the right price. For us, that is.”

“The price is four million dollars, Mr. Morrison. I think my real estate lawyer in the city has already told you that.”

“He did. But as I told Mr. Melinger, it’s a bit steep for me.”

“Actually, the inn is worth four million dollars, even more if the truth be known,” Meredith pointed out. “As a matter of fact, it’s true value is four and a half million dollars. You can check that with the real estate people both here and in the city. It just so happens that I’m willing to take less because I’m expanding my company. Otherwise, I’d hold out for the proper price, I can assure you.”

“I’ll give you three million,” Philip Morrison said, glanced at his wife, and added, “That’s all we can pay, isn’t it, Liz?”

Momentarily startled to suddenly be drawn into this exchange, she looked nonplussed. Then she said quickly, emphatically, “We’re selling our Manhattan co-op and hoping to get a mortgage on the Lakeville house, and by cashing in some of our other assets, we can raise three million. But that’s it.”

Meredith gave her a long and thoughtful look but made no comment. Leaning forward, she picked up her cup of coffee and took a sip.

Morrison said, “What do you say, Mrs. Stratton? Will you accept three million?”

“No,” Meredith said, looking him right in the eye. “I can’t. As I told you, when I first decided to sell Hilltops, my original price was four and a half million dollars, because that is its true value. It’s in perfect condition. New roof, new plumbing, and new wiring in the last few years, among many other major improvements. And there’s a great deal of land attached to the inn. I came down in price only because it was suggested I do so by my advisers, in order to sell now. But I must stick at four million.”

“Three million and a quarter,” Morrison countered.

Meredith pursed her lips and shook her head. “Four.”

“Three and a quarter,” he offered again.

Meredith let out a small sigh and gave the Morrisons a slow, resigned smile, glancing from one to the other. “I tell you what, I’ll take three million seven hundred and fifty thousand.”

“I just can’t do it,” Philip Morrison said.

“But it’s a bargain,” Meredith stated quietly. “If you consider that the proper price is really four and a half million, I’ve just come down by three quarters of a million dollars.”

Philip Morrison smiled wryly. “But we’ve always been talking four million, not four and a half, Mrs. Stratton, let’s not forget that, shall we?”

Meredith made no response.

She rose and walked across to the bank of windows overlooking the lake, and stood there staring out at the view for a few moments.

Finally, when she swung around, she said, “You want the inn. I want to sell it. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll compromise. I’ll sell it to you for three point five million.”

The Morrisons exchanged pointed glances.

At last Philip Morrison said, “I’d like to do it, but I just don’t think I can. I can’t raise any more.”

“You could go to your bank,” Meredith suggested, “and get a loan, or, better still, a mortgage on the inn.”

Philip Morrison stared at her. But he remained silent.

“I can introduce you to the right bank,” Meredith volunteered, wanting to conclude the deal.

“Do you think they would give me a mortgage on the inn?” he asked, taking the bait.

“I’m pretty certain, yes. There’s something else I’ll do. I’ll have my real estate lawyer structure a reasonable payment schedule, one that won’t cripple you.”

Elizabeth Morrison said, “That’s very decent of you.”

Meredith answered, “I want to make the deal and I don’t want to gouge you. You want to make the deal and I’m sure you don’t want to cheat me.”

“Never! We’re not people like that!” the other woman exclaimed indignantly.

“I must say, you’re making it very tempting,” Morrison muttered, directing his gaze at Meredith. “Making it hard to resist.”

“Then don’t resist, Mr. Morrison,” Meredith said, walking back to the fireplace.

He got to his feet when she drew to a stop next to his chair.

Meredith thrust out her hand. “Come on, let’s not haggle. Let’s make the deal. It’s good for us both, beneficial to us both.”

He hesitated only fractionally. Then he took her hand and shook it. “All right, Mrs. Stratton, you’ve got a deal. Three and a half million dollars it is.”

Meredith nodded and smiled at him.

He returned her smile.

Elizabeth Morrison came over and shook Meredith’s hand.

Paul Ince, who had been on pins and needles throughout this negotiation, congratulated everyone, then said, “I think this calls for a toast. Let’s go to the bar and I’ll open a bottle of Dom Pérignon.”

“What a great idea, Paul,” Meredith said, leading the way out of the library.

On the drive back to New York City, Meredith gave only fleeting thought to Hilltops. She had accomplished what she had set out to do; she had sold the inn for the amount she wanted through her shrewdness, and she was well satisfied. Three and a half million dollars would meet her expansion needs more than adequately.

Before leaving the inn, she had settled everything. Arrangements had been made for the Morrisons to meet with her real estate lawyer, who would draw up the necessary documents next week. She had also set up an appointment for them to see Henry Raphaelson. The banker had sounded amenable during the phone call, had assured her he would endeavor to work things out with the Morrisons.

And so she turned her thoughts to other matters as Jonas drove back to Manhattan. Mostly she focused her attention on her trip to England, and on the purchase of an inn there. She was confident she would like one of the two Patsy Canton had found. With luck, she would be able to bring that bit of business to a conclusion fairly quickly, so that she could go to Paris to see Agnes D’Auberville.

Patsy had invited her to lunch on Sunday so that they could go over business matters and map out a plan, and in so doing save time. The general idea was that they would travel to the north of England on Monday, going first to Cumbria. After looking at the inn located in the Lake District, they would drive down to Yorkshire to see the one in the dales.

When she had asked Patsy which of the two inns she preferred, her partner had been somewhat evasive. “The one in Keswick needs much less done to it,” she had said, and then clammed up.

When Meredith had pressed her further, Patsy had refused to make any more comments. “I want this to be your decision and yours alone,” Patsy had murmured. “If I give you my opinion now, before you’ve seen either hotel, I’ll be influencing you, setting you up in advance. So don’t press me.”

It had been Patsy’s suggestion that if she had no reason to return to London, she should fly to Paris from the Leeds-Bradford Airport. “There’re lots of flights to Paris from there and also from Manchester, which is nearby.” Meredith had agreed that this was a great idea, since it would save so much time.

Leaning back against the car seat, she closed her eyes, thinking of the packing she still had to do, trying to decide what clothes to take. Unexpectedly, she thought of Reed Jamison and the dinner date she had made with him. The mere idea of seeing him filled her with dismay, but she knew she must keep the appointment if she were to break off with him.