Prelude to a Wedding by Patricia McLinn Page A

mausoleum into a home kicks
up a lot of dust."
    Walter Mulholland had raged, but there was
nothing he could do. Even at twelve, Paul had recognized the
lesson. Walter Mulholland was beatable. All it took was
determination and unbending resistance.
    "It really is a wonderful place now. This
whole area . . ." Bette made an all-encompassing gesture, then
seemed to remember a complaint. "But what possessed you to say I
was looking at a house in this neighborhood? I can't afford this
area. And even if I could—what are you smiling about?"
    "Nothing. Let's get going. I'm hungry and we
have pumpkins to unload. I wonder if the neighbors need
jack-o'-lanterns this year?"
    * * * *
    "Would you like more, Bette?"
    "No, thank you, Mrs. Monroe. This was
wonderful, but I couldn't eat another bite."
    "Are you sure? I don't think you young people
who live alone get enough to eat. I'd hate to think you'd be hungry
later."
    Paul's chuckle spluttered into his glass of
water. Bette thought she heard something resembling "told you
so."
    Giving him a quelling look, she politely
declined once more, then helped Mrs. Monroe clear the table. In the
kitchen she put a few things away while her hostess prepared coffee
and chatted of cooking, gardens, the symphony and family.
    ". . . I'll have to show you a portrait of my
father after dinner. Paul looks so much like him at the same
age."
    Bette wondered if Paul had ever heard that
comparison. Considering his views on that relative, he wouldn't
like it.
    In Nancy Monroe's mostly gray hair, Bette
could see the vestiges of Paul's chestnut color. Although he shared
a lot of mannerisms with his father, Bette saw that many of his
features had come from his mother. Physical features, but also the
ability to make people comfortable in an instant.
    Bette could admit to herself now that she'd
been a bit awed. Not only by meeting Paul's parents so
unexpectedly—so soon, she almost added, as if it were an occurrence
she'd expected eventually, when that wasn't the case at all—but by
the house, with its sweeping, dignified exterior, its views of Lake
Michigan through multiple sets of French doors, its casually
elegant furnishings.
    But Nancy Monroe melted away the awe. She was
a very nice woman. In fact, Bette thought as she prepared to take
the cream and sugar in to the dining room, they were a very nice
family. Not so unlike her own.
    As she stepped into the dining room, she
became aware that the Monroes were not unlike her own in other
ways. She felt the tension immediately. Between her and her
parents, the topic was her living alone. Between Paul and his
father, it apparently concerned his business.
    "Contact with a prestigious museum like that
can't help but enhance your reputation and that can only aid your
business. It's the sort of opportunity you should cultivate." James
Monroe took a breath, and Bette could tell he was repeating a
question, more to drive home a point than to get an answer. "So,
are you going out there to discuss this opportunity with them?"
    "I'm going out there." The coolness in Paul's
voice surprised her.
    "But are you—"
    Paul caught sight of Bette. Rising to take
the sugar and creamer as if they were too heavy for her, he cut off
his father. "Ah, good. Now all we need is something to mix them
with."
    Without the usual amusement lighting his
face, the words fell flat. He seemed to realize that. As he
returned to his chair, he went on immediately. "Did you know my dad
was a heck of a shortstop thirty-five years ago? Reached the top of
the minor league system. Would have made it to the majors, too,
only—"
    Paul looked up as his mother came through the
door with the coffee on a tray, and broke off.
    "Are you two talking about baseball again?"
she asked with fond exasperation.
    "No," answered her husband. "I was trying to
pin him down to make a decision, with as little success as ever. Or
at least to find out if he's making a trip to D.C." He faced his
son again, and his voice seemed to