Naked Once More by Elizabeth Peters

was only thirteen when Kathleen… went. Too young to supply the comfort and companionship her mother’s condition required.”
    Sherri’s lips parted a fraction of an inch, but if she had intended to speak she changed her mind. She had her sister’s eyes—big and velvety brown, with little flecks of green.
    Craig had not expected a comment; he went on without pausing. “And you, St. John, had been away from home for years. You didn’t return until after Kathleen’s book had been published.”
    “Of course I returned.” St. John turned to Jacqueline. “I gave up my own business, Mrs. Kirby—a very successful business—to rush to Kathleen’s side when she needed me. I cannot imagine how she could have managed without my experience and skill. She had no business sense whatever, and she was a very trusting, naive person. Typical of you literary geniuses, I suppose.”
    Jacqueline laughed merrily. “Some of us, Mr. Darcy. Some of us. Not all of us.”
    Craig Two choked on his soup and raised his napkin to his face. I can deal with him, Jacqueline thought. He’s not stupid, and he has the rudiments of a sense of humor. Wonder where he got it? Not from his father, the old buzzard’s face hasn’t cracked once. And Grandson appears to be a chip off the older block.
    Marjorie removed the soup bowls and served the main course, and old-fashioned, uncompromising platter of pot roast with accompanying vegetables. St. John served his mother first and she fell to. As the other plates were being passed, Jacqueline said winsomely, “I know it’s not good manners to discuss business at lunch, but since you’ve introduced the subject, Mr. Darcy, and since you are all busy people with many demands on your time…” The silent presence at the end of the table, its entire mind and body concentrated on the absorption of food, made the words stick in her throat. There was no need for her to continue; St. John was ready and willing to talk.
    “Quite, quite, Mrs. Kirby. Your consideration in coming here is appreciated, I assure you. For a number of reasons it seemed the most practical way of doing this. My mother’s health, the difficulty of transporting the entire family to New York—a city I personally find distasteful—”
    Craig One glanced ostentatiously at his watch. “I have an appointment at two-thirty,” he rumbled. “Explain the situation to Mrs. Kirby, or allow me to do so.”
    “Certainly.” St. John cleared his throat portentously. “My chief concern—I should of course say our chief concern—is the book itself. We must have a work that maintains, though of course it cannot equal, the literary standard of
Naked in the Ice.
”
    The old woman at the end of the table stirred and murmured fretfully. The only audible word might have been “hated.” Jacqueline was surprised to hear it echoed by the hitherto silent girl sandwiched between Craigs One and Two. “Kathleen hated that title.”
    They waited for her to go on, but she relapsed into silence, her eyes lowered. After a moment Jacqueline said, “I know. She wanted to call it
Kingdoms of the Ice.
A much better title, I agree. But there’s a cynical old saying in publishing that the word ‘naked’ in a book title will sell an additional fifty thousand copies.”
    “Disgusting,” Craig One muttered.
    “No doubt,” his son said dryly. “But Mr. Darcy isn’t concerned about the decadence of the publishing industry. He’s interested in Mrs. Kirby’s qualifications. You seem to have done your research, Mrs. Kirby.”
    “Anyone in my position would have done the same.”
    “You’d be surprised.” The lawyer smiled. “I got the distinct impression that some of your colleagues hadn’t even read the book.”
    “I’ve read it not once but many times,” Jacqueline said. “I’ve also read everything that has been written about it, and about Kathleen. Whether that qualifies me to write the sequel is a moot point, but it is certainly the least any