Kitabı oku: «Her Hand in Marriage», sayfa 2

‘Lewis, please,’ he suggested, and they shook hands.

And while he and her mother discussed the picture in front of them, and commented on other works to be seen, Romillie for the moment kept to the sidelines while she wondered—had Lewis Selby really been unable to use the tickets he had given her mother? Or, in the face of her refusing to go out with him, had he intended to be there all along, this merely a ploy to have some time with her away from her home? At any rate, he was not moving on, but appeared to have latched on to them.

She was still pondering that matter when she noticed a tall man who must have just come in, because she had not spotted him previously. What especially caught her notice was that the tall, good-looking man, somewhere in his mid-thirties, was standing stock still and just staring at her.

Romillie tilted her chin a trifle—and looked through him. She had seen tall, good-looking men before—tall, good-looking and untrustworthy. She turned back to tune in to what Lewis Selby and her mother were saying. But suddenly they were interrupted when the good-looking man she had been ready to ignore was there, proving that he was not so easy to ignore.

‘Naylor!’ Lewis exclaimed. ‘I thought you were still at the office!’

‘I’m taking time off for good behaviour,’ Naylor replied, his voice even and well modulated.

‘Let me introduce you,’ Lewis said pleasantly. ‘Naylor is my deputy and will take over when I retire. Naylor, Mrs Eleanor Fairfax.’ And, as they shook hands, ‘And this is Romillie, Eleanor’s daughter.’

‘Romillie,’ Naylor acknowledged, and shook her hand too, but did not, she thought, seem overly impressed, because he turned from her and straight away asked her mother if she was enjoying the exhibits, and if she had far to come or lived in London.

And while Eleanor explained briefly where they lived, and that they had journeyed up by car, Romillie realised she must have gained the wrong impression when she had thought Naylor Cardell had been standing stock still when he had seen her. If he had, he must have seen all he wanted to, because he was not looking at her now—and in fact had barely given her another glance.

She felt slightly miffed for no reason, because she was sure she did not want the next chairman of Tritel Incorporated to be interested in her—which clearly he was not. So, after first checking that her mother appeared to be all right and in no way anxious, Romillie moved a step or two away to look at a different painting.

From the corner of her eye she saw her mother and Lewis Selby move on. She had thought Naylor Cardell had moved on with them. But—wrong—he was all at once there in front of her.

Romillie looked up and observed that he had short dark blondish hair and quite striking blue eyes—eyes that were looking no more interested now than they had. And—more—were definitely unfriendly. Abruptly, she glanced from him to see that her mother, although now out of earshot, was otherwise chatting happily to Lewis.

Romillie flicked her glance back to Naylor Cardell. She had a feeling she did not like him. Had a feeling he did not like her. Fine. She did not have to like him—if he was standing there waiting for her to say something he’d have a long wait.

But he wasn’t waiting. His tone curt, ‘You know that Lewis has asked your mother out?’ he gritted.

Romillie was so taken aback she wasn’t sure that her jaw did not drop. She took another glance to where her mother and Lewis appeared to be getting on famously.

‘He told you?’ she questioned sharply, not at all sure how she felt about that, but her protective instincts on the upsurge.

‘We’re friends as well as colleagues,’ Naylor Cardell stated. ‘Lewis Selby is a fine man,’ he went curtly. ‘I admire him tremendously.’

Romillie did not care to be spoken to curtly. Who the blazes did he think he was? ‘You’re suggesting I should join his fan club?’ she asked acidly.

Naylor’s eyes narrowed at her impudence—Romillie had a feeling that he was more used to women falling at his feet than giving him a load of lip. He swallowed down his ire, however, to inform her, ‘Lewis is an honourable man. I can guarantee that should Eleanor take up his invitation she will come to no harm.’

Romillie had had enough of this before it started. He had known her mother for five minutes—she had spent this last five years trying to help her through what had been a very dreadful time for her.

‘I’ll bear that in mind!’ she retorted, and went to walk away—the nerve of the man!

‘Hear me out.’ Naylor insisted.

Romillie could think of not one single, solitary reason why she should. But, glancing at her mother again, she saw her laugh at something Lewis had just said. And just then she was struck by the change in her mother since that day she had first invited Lewis Selby in for a cup of tea. She seemed, in fact, from that day onwards, to have made great strides in surfacing from the despair that had held her in its grip for so long, and moving on towards regaining her full confidence. So maybe, just maybe, she owed this man—who clearly held Lewis Selby in high regard—some small hearing.

‘So?’ she invited.

‘So I’ll tell you,’ Naylor Cardell took up, without waiting for her to change her mind, ‘because it’s for certain that Lewis won’t. He went through one horrendous divorce a couple of years ago, where he was too much of a gentleman to fight back. She, the ex, did everything she could to destroy him. She almost succeeded.’

That had such a familiar ring to it—had not her own father tried to undermine her mother at every turn, done everything he could to make her crumple?

‘She hated it like hell when he proved too much of a man for her,’ Naylor went on. ‘But that doesn’t mean he didn’t suffer just the same.’

Romillie could feel herself warming to Lewis Selby. Oh, the poor man. If…She checked the thought. She mustn’t go soft here. Her mother was still her prime consideration.

‘So?’ she tossed at him, chin jutting.

Naylor Cardell’s eyes glinted steel. ‘So,’ he said heavily, ‘from the little Lewis has told me of your mother—and I swear to you he has not broken any confidences,’ he added, when she started to bridle, ‘I’d say that both your mother and Lewis could do with a break.’

‘A break for what?’ Romillie questioned hostilely, as ever her mother’s guardian.

‘A break to get to know each other, wouldn’t you say?’

Romillie was not sure that she would. She looked into those striking blue eyes and could feel herself giving in while not sure what she was giving in to. Time to toughen up! ‘Who elected you cupid?’ she challenged curtly—and discovered that he didn’t like being spoken to that way either.

‘Look here, Fairfax,’ he rapped. ‘It’s an initial dinner that’s in the offing, not a trip to see the vicar. And if you could forget to be thoroughly selfish for two minutes, and after all your mother does for you do something for her for a change, it might improve your disposition.’

Romillie’s jaw did drop. That was so unfair! How dared he? She felt like hitting him. But she was used to dampening down her feelings, and so swallowed down the urge to hit him or to tell him just how wrong he had got it. No way was she going to tell him anything of how downcast her mother had been.

So, she stared up at him. Then suddenly she smiled, the phoney smile she had up to then reserved for Jeff Davidson, and with no intention whatsoever of doing anything Naylor Cardell might suggest, ‘What would you like me to do?’ she invited sweetly.

Whether he saw straight through her or not, Romillie had no idea, but Naylor Cardell seemed to be giving the matter every consideration before, after several moments, he suggested, ‘Why not urge Eleanor to take up his dinner invitation? To accept—’

‘She won’t.’ Romillie cut him off. Oh, my, he wasn’t used to being interrupted. That was plain as she weathered the exasperated look he sent her.

‘Lewis tells me there’s a chance if you go too,’ he grated.

Oh, help us, this Naylor Cardell really did dislike her, didn’t he? She should worry! ‘My mother would never agree to that,’ Romillie told him forthrightly. But then, out of positively nowhere—though perhaps since he had been trying to back her into a corner where she, it seemed, was selfish and uncaring—Romillie thought it about time she challenged him for a change. ‘My mother wouldn’t agree to that,’ she reiterated, but added, bringing out her phoney smile again, and looking up at him all wide-eyed and innocent, ‘But she might agree if we went out in a foursome.’

Naylor Cardell stared at her as if he just could not believe his hearing. As if his normal powers of rapid comprehension had just deserted him.

‘Foursome?’ he queried slowly. ‘We?’ he questioned, scandalised.

Suddenly Romillie was having a lovely time. It was all right, wasn’t it, when he was doing the challenging, he urging she persuade her mother to accept Lewis’s invitation, but different again when that challenge was bounced back at him. ‘It’s time to put your money where your mouth is,’ she told him. And just had to release a light laugh that bubbled up and would not stay down when she added, ‘Be brave, Cardell—you’ve been elected.’

He stared down into her wide brown eyes, looked down at her laughing lovely mouth, and appeared to be very much taken aback—even a little stunned. She was still smiling, not a phoney smile this time, but a genuine smile that came from the fact that in putting him on the spot for a change her good humour was restored. It was not, however, to last.

Because suddenly her own previous phoney smile was being lobbed back at her, and she just did not believe it when, ‘Very well,’ Naylor Cardell conceded. And, while that wiped the smile from her face, ‘I’ll make up a foursome,’ he agreed, bestowing on her a superior kind of look that had soon put paid to her smile. And, in case she was in any doubt, ‘But if your mother still says no,’ he added, ‘it’s off.’

The nerve of the man! Open-mouthed, she stared at him. ‘Don’t flatter yourself!’ she retorted heatedly, having no need of the reminder that he had no personal interest in her but, when he would not normally dream of going out with her, would if it would help out a friend and colleague who had been through very bad times. ‘You’re not married?’ she thought to question, committed, by the look of it, but already searching for a way out.

The trouble was, he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. It was all there in his silkily drawled, ‘You don’t get out of it that easily. I’m completely unattached—and like it that way.’

Romillie breathed out heavily. ‘Good for you!’ she erupted, niggled, and was more annoyed when he took out his business card and handed it to her.

‘Call me,’ he said.

She did not want his wretched card, but without another word took it from him. Fuming, she turned from him and went in search of her mother. ‘You don’t get out of it that easily’ he had said. She did not like the sound of that. Somehow, those words had sounded ominously like a threat!

CHAPTER TWO

ROMILLIE awoke early on Saturday morning, hardly able to believe the happenings of the previous evening. Naylor Cardell had thought her selfish and with little thought for anyone but herself. As if she cared what he thought! And he expected her to give him a call! He’d had that! She had no intention of ringing him ever!

She had not seen him again after she had walked away, so presumably he had viewed all he wanted in the art gallery. When she and her mother had been ready to leave Lewis Selby had enquired if they would care to join him somewhere for a bite of supper. Romillie had waited for her mother to reply, but hadn’t been surprised when she declined the invitation.

‘I think we’ll be on our way.’

‘You’ve enjoyed the evening?’ Lewis had asked, escorting them to where they had parked the car.

‘Much more than I thought I would,’ Eleanor had replied, and had given him such a sweet smile.

Romillie and her mother had discussed various paintings on the way home. But Romillie had been hard put to know how to reply when her mother got round to mentioning some of the people they had met, in particular one Naylor Cardell.

‘What did you think of him?’ she had asked.

Arrogant, curt, bossy, wanted taking down a peg or five, sprang to mind. ‘I should imagine he’ll make a very good successor to Lewis,’ was what she did say, which in fairness—given that she knew little about the business—she thought he probably would.

‘You seemed to be getting on well with him,’ Eleanor commented. ‘I glanced over to you a couple of times and you seemed to be chatting well away there—he was making you smile and laugh a lot, I noticed.’

Somehow, with her mother having had such a happy evening, it had not seemed fair to put a blight on it by confessing that, while her laugh had been genuine, her smiles—as well as his—had been bogus.

It warmed her though, that while she had kept her eye on her mother from time to time, to check she was coping all right on her first outing in a long, long while, her mother, it seemed, had likewise been keeping a motherly and protective eye on her daughter.

Over the next few days Romillie was able to observe that there was a growing dramatic change in her parent of late. She was generally much, much brighter than she had been. And on Wednesday when Romillie went in from work, she actually heard her singing as she pottered about the kitchen.

The reason for that, Romillie began to see, was because Lewis Selby had called that afternoon. ‘Is that an extra cup and saucer I see?’ Romillie asked lightly of the two cups and saucers on the draining board.

‘Lewis popped in,’ her mother replied.

Romillie had done nothing about phoning Naylor Cardell, but all at once she began to wonder if she should. She had an idea that Lewis Selby was in no hurry to complete closing up the house next door and putting it on the market. But his business there must surely finish soon.

From her own observations she had seen how knowing Lewis had done her mother nothing but good. Since knowing him she had come on in leaps and bounds.

She guessed he had an understanding of her mother that only someone who had been through the pulverising divorce he had been through could have. Instinctively Romillie knew that he would guard her mother. Which made her wonder how her mother would feel when Lewis did not come around any more.

But—Naylor Cardell…? Oh, for crying out loud, it was only dinner, for goodness’ sake! But he would be there too—now, that was the maggot in the apple.

Frustratedly, irritatedly, she chewed over having to meet the wretched man again. Could she, in the interests of getting her parent into the swing of socialising again, put up with him for a few hours?

With a heartfelt sigh Romillie reluctantly came to the conclusion that in an attempt to wean her mother away from her reclusive existence—whether Lewis Selby featured in her future or not—she had better make that phone call.

Though first she had to get her mother to agree to the foursome—it just did not bear thinking about, Romillie considered, that she should dine à deux, just her and Naylor Cardell there. Though from what she could remember of his obvious dislike of her that was never going to happen anyway.

She was still seeking a way to broach the subject when they were having their meal that night and she became aware that her mother was looking solemnly at her. ‘Have I gravy on my chin?’ Romillie asked puzzled.

‘You’re not—man-wary, are you, darling?’ Eleanor questioned in a rush.

‘No, of course not.’ Romillie protested.

But could see she was not believed when her mother pressed on worriedly, ‘You haven’t let the way your father is, the way he behaved in our marriage, put you off men in any way?’ she persisted.

If it had, and while she might privately be concerned in case she developed some of her father’s lax traits, there was no way Romillie was going to give her mother something else to worry about.

‘What brought this on?’ she asked with a laugh.

‘You,’ Eleanor replied, not laughing. ‘You never go out with a man more than a few times. And just when I was beginning to think you were going steady with Jeff Davidson you broke up with him.’

‘I’m perfectly happy as I am!’ Romillie protested.

But Eleanor was suddenly far more determined than she had been for a very long while. ‘I know you’ve had to spend a lot of time with me, and I regret that more than you know. But I’m okay again now, and I want to stand on my own feet. So I want you to promise me that instead of being negative the next time some agreeable man asks you out, you’ll say yes.’

This was quite a speech from her mother. ‘If it will stop you worrying—yes, yes, yes,’ Romillie cheerfully agreed, happily aware that she never went anywhere where she might meet one such.

‘Good,’ her mother responded. ‘Lewis told me this afternoon that Naylor Cardell had mentioned having dinner with you.’

‘That’s unfair!’ Romillie cried, trying to look outraged, but delighted to see a sudden gleam of wickedness in her mother’s eyes. Agreeable? Naylor Cardell!

‘You’ve just promised.’ She refused to let her back down.

And at that moment Romillie knew she had the opening she had been looking for—forget the ‘agreeable’ bit. But she tried to keep it very casual as she brought out, ‘I will if you will.’

‘I’m not with you?’

‘Lewis Selby asked you to have dinner with him,’ Romillie reminded her.

‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ her mother straight away exclaimed.

‘You could if we went in a foursome.’

Eleanor looked at her in amazement. ‘A foursome!’ She thought about it, and then decided, ‘You don’t want me with you. And what on earth would Naylor say?’

Romillie already had the answer to that—either your mother comes or I don’t. ‘That’s the deal,’ she said, and refused to budge.

‘But that will mean asking Lewis,’ she protested.

‘I’ll get Naylor to ask him.’

‘How did this all get so complicated?’ her mother prevaricated.

‘It’s not complicated. Lewis and Naylor, you and me, or nothing.’

‘But Lewis hasn’t asked me out again,’ Eleanor stated. Though, as if the idea was starting to sound not quite so unthinkable as it had, she suddenly looked as though she quite liked the idea. Even if she did insist, ‘I’ll come, but only if Lewis rings and asks me.’ With that she began to clear their dinner plates seeming a shade foxed all at once as she commented, ‘All I thought to do was to find out if you have a hang up about men—and suddenly it looks as if I’m to get my best dress out of mothballs.’

Romillie did not look forward to making that phone call, and got up the next morning with the fact that she was going to have to hanging over her like a dark cloud. But, since she did not want to make the call from her workstation, she went out to her car mid-morning and from there rang the number on Naylor Cardell’s business card.

‘May I speak with Mr Cardell?’ she asked the female who answered, and realised that the number gave her access straight through to his PA. She half hoped the PA would block the call or say he was not in.

But no such luck. ‘Who shall I say is calling?’ she enquired pleasantly.

‘Romillie Fairfax,’ she replied, and waited, wanting to terminate the call before she started.

‘Yes?’ clipped Naylor Cardell, not very enamoured to have his work interrupted.

‘We can make Saturday,’ she told him briefly, her tones not enamoured of him either.

‘Right,’ he said, and that was all.

But, fearing he was about to bang down his phone, Romillie hurriedly burst into speech. ‘But my mother will only agree if Lewis contacts her and asks her personally.’

‘I’ll see to it!’ Naylor clipped, without so much as a pause—and that was an end to the time he wasted on her.

That urge she had felt before, to set about him, was there again. She did not know what it was about him but Romillie experienced a quite dreadful desire to punch Naylor Cardell’s head. She half wished he had changed his mind and said that he wasn’t free on Saturday, and that dinner was off.

But, on leaving her car and going back to work, Romillie realised that to wish that would only make her as selfish as the dratted man thought she was. Not that she was concerned about his opinion. It was her mother that mattered.

But Naylor Cardell had ‘seen to it’, as he had said he would, and when Romillie went home at lunchtime it was to discover that Lewis had already been in telephone contact with her mother.

‘I said we would meet them in town to save them driving down here, but Lewis wouldn’t hear of it,’ Eleanor revealed. ‘He and Naylor will pick us up around seven—but I expect you already know that from Naylor.’

By half past six on Saturday evening, Romillie was starting to have grave doubts about the venture. Her mother was looking more and more uptight by the minute.

Which only went to make Romillie wonder if she should have left things well alone and let her mother come to a decision in her own time about whether or not she wanted to go out in male company.

At five to seven, with her parent growing more and more fidgety, Romillie was feeling very much that she had been wrong to collude with Naylor Cardell the way that she had. In fact, she was of a mind to go out and apologise to Lewis—and Naylor if she had to—and to tell them they would not be coming to dine with them after all.

Impossibly, however, when her mother had been pacing about for the last ten minutes, no sooner had Lewis arrived and said a quiet, ‘Hello, Eleanor,’ than her mother’s nerves about the evening seem to instantly fall away.

Looking completely relaxed with each other, they were already engaged in pleasantries when Naylor unfolded his long length from behind the steering wheel of the car and came to join them.

‘Romillie,’ he said.

‘Naylor,’ she replied.

And that would have been it as far as she was concerned—except that both her mother and Lewis seemed to be of the opinion that Naylor was her date, and insisted that she sit up front with him.

‘Had a good week?’ she enquired, after racking her brains for something to talk to him about as they drove along.

‘Can’t complain,’ he replied briefly. A minute ticked by, and then two. ‘You?’ he enquired.

Grief, this was like trying to harvest a field of wheat with a pair of blunt scissors! ‘Average,’ she managed, and began to be sure that the evening was going to be a complete disaster.

Strangely, it wasn’t. Not totally. Whoever had chosen the restaurant Naylor and Lewis took them to they had, Romillie saw, chosen well. There was plush carpeting, crisp linen, and room between the well-spaced tables for private conversation. If, that was, they could find anything to talk about.

But she had to give Naylor Cardell credit that, the idea of the four of them dining together being hers and not his, he did not leave it to her to keep the conversational ball rolling. As they started on their meal, he did away with desultory conversation and appeared to show an interest in her. She knew that it was purely for her mother’s benefit, but felt the oddest sensation inside when he looked across at her for long moments and seemed quite taken with her. She saw his glance flick over her just below shoulder-length long dark hair, stray over her unblemished complexion, before his striking blue eyes connected with her velvety brown ones.

‘Eleanor, I know, is a well-known artist of exceptional talent,’ he began engagingly. ‘Tell me, Romillie, have you inherited your mother’s gift?’

‘Er—I’ve tried, but I’m quite, quite hopeless,’ she stated honestly, endeavouring to hide the fact that his charm offensive had taken her unawares.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that, darling.’ Her mother joined in the conversation, amazingly, after the way she had been prior to seeing Lewis that evening, now thoroughly relaxed.

‘I think you must be seeing my poor efforts through a mother’s indulgent eyes,’ Romillie laughed, and, feeling unexpectedly relaxed herself all at once, fell silent for a while as Lewis joined in and the discussion centred around art, including talk of the exhibition all four of them had attended.

They were on to the next course when there was a lull in the conversation and Naylor again seemed to remember that, in the interests of furthering the budding friendship of Lewis and Eleanor, he should be showing more of an interest in Eleanor’s daughter.

‘What sort of work do you do, Romillie?’ he asked. ‘You never said.’

‘I work in a dental practice,’ she replied, realising she was honour-bound to play along.

‘You’re a dental surgeon?’

‘Nothing so grand,’ she answered, finding a smile. ‘I’m just a receptionist.’

‘As long as you enjoy it,’ he responded, and asked, ‘Have you been there long?’

‘About a year,’ she replied, and realised he was playing his interested man-friend part well when he did not leave it there.

‘What did you do before that?’ he enquired pleasantly.

Nothing, actually. But for no known reason, while she was sure she was not the smallest bit bothered about his opinion of her, Romillie discovered that—when he must work very hard—she didn’t wish that he should add lazy to his belief that she was selfish.

‘I—er…’ she stumbled—and was astonished that when she had spent the last five years doing what she could to protect her mother, her mother, plainly knowing her well enough to read her discomfiture, suddenly took on the role of protecting her!

‘Romillie was about to start university in the hope of one day being a forensic scientist, but she gave up her university place to stay at home and—keep me company when I became unwell,’ Eleanor butted in.

‘Mum…’ Romillie murmured. ‘You don’t have to…’

But Eleanor, her protective instinct dormant for so long, had woken up with a vengeance, clearly not wanting her daughter’s ‘escort’ to think her offspring had spent years in total idleness. ‘I was—very—down, and would have been lost without Rom,’ she went on to explain.

Romillie had never heard her mother talk like this, and, aware that Naylor’s glance had switched from her mother and on to her, started to feel a little embarrassed. ‘Mum, please,’ she protested.

‘It’s true, darling,’ Eleanor said affectionately. ‘You’ve had to be strong for both of us.’

Thankfully Lewis entered the conversation just then, to gently enquire, ‘How are you progressing now, Eleanor?’

‘Getting there,’ she replied, favouring him with a warm smile. ‘With my daughter’s help, I’m getting there. Romillie has taken this job well below her capabilities because it’s near enough to home that she can return in her lunch hour—or be with me inside fifteen minutes if I start to get a little bit panicky.’

Romillie by that time was feeling dreadfully torn—as well as embarrassed. On the one hand it was so good to hear her mother—if a little hesitantly—opening up. But on the other, recalling how only last Wednesday her parent had wondered if she had been put off men, Romillie could not help but think was she now trying to show Naylor, lest Romillie show him her ‘negative’ side, that her daughter really did have a caring, positive side. Oh, grief!

But she did not believe for a moment that Naylor was aware of her embarrassment, or was endeavouring to take the attention off her when, quite pleasantly he glanced over to her mother and enquired, ‘And how about your own work, Eleanor?’

‘I hadn’t picked up my brushes in I don’t know how long, but I’ve recently done a few small pieces, nothing major,’ she responded, and Romillie drew a relieved breath to have the limelight taken off her. ‘But I do believe I’m getting the itch to get back to it again,’ her mother, to Romillie’s delight, stated.

‘You wouldn’t like to make a portrait of me your first assignment, I suppose?’ Lewis asked. And, when Eleanor turned to him as if ready to refuse, ‘Mind, you’d have to make me look good,’ he added, and laughed with Eleanor when she laughed. And Lewis explained, ‘Apparently all past chairmen have to be hanged in the boardroom. Many say not before time,’ he joked.

All in all, given that she had been overwhelmingly embarrassed by her mother singing her praises, Romillie thought the evening had been most successful. Her mother had smiled and laughed with Lewis, and in fact, as Romillie sat beside Naylor Cardell on the journey home, she could not remember the last time she had seen her mother so buoyant.

Naylor pulled his car up on the drive of her home, and out of courtesy both men got out of the car. The evening, in Romillie’s view, should have ended there. So she did not thank Naylor Cardell when he chose to extend it. Though it was plain that his interest was not in her—not that she wanted it to be, for heaven’s sake—because it was to her mother that he addressed his question.

‘I wonder, Eleanor,’ he said as the four of them stood on the drive, ‘if you would be kind enough to show me some of your work?’

She looked about to politely turn down the request. Then she looked from him to her daughter, and Romillie had to endure that feeling of embarrassment again. For it seemed to her that while it might appear obvious to anyone else that since—if she accepted—her mother had been commissioned to paint a portrait of his company’s chairman, it was likely someone on the board would want to see something of her work, Romillie saw it differently. From her mother’s point of view one very agreeable man was taking an interest in her man-wary daughter. It was time for a mother to wake up and do something about it. In this small case—since Naylor obviously wanted to prolong the evening—agree.