Free Intrusion: A Novel by Mary McCluskey Page B

couldn’t they handle you?” asked James, leaning forward. He and Glenda were both fascinated by this woman, Kat thought. Their eyes were fixed on her. “You were such a bad kid?”
    “Very bad. Helen was strong stuff, though. Old school.”
    “Ah, the British are an interesting people,” said Miyamoto. “Right, Scott?”
    “Yes, indeed. Once you get over feeling like a Loud Uncouth American everywhere you go.”
    “My goodness, you felt like that with Kat’s family, too?” asked Sarah, winking at Kat.
    “Oh no. They were good to me,” Scott said. “We got on just fine.”
    “They were impressed because he got served so fast in our local pub,” Kat said, remembering her father’s delight. “They didn’t realize that the bar staff made a beeline for him because he gave them huge tips.”
    “Well, I didn’t know it wasn’t the custom,” Scott said. “I had a good time there. A few of those fancy country places, though, I felt like the Marlboro Man. Frontier man. A cowboy. Aware of my loud voice.”
    “Scott, you are a cowboy,” said James, grinning, and the group laughed.
    Kat realized that Scott had been drinking a lot; he was talking more than he had talked for weeks. As the group relaxed, mellowing in the soft light of the room, Sarah’s butler appeared to switch on lamps and bring fresh drinks. Miyamoto sat in an armchair, his wife on the sofa beside James Dempsey. Glenda, her short cap of chestnut hair shining in the lamplight, looked pretty this evening; her angular face was relaxed, and she wore eye makeup for a change, so that her blue eyes sparkled. She perched on the arm of the sofa, her arm draped along the back where James sat, her fingers occasionally brushing his shoulders, just the slightest proprietary touch. Kat wondered briefly about their relationship. They were at least close friends, she guessed. At the very least. And likely more than that.
    Kat sipped her white wine, noticing that somehow, without her being aware of it, her glass had been refilled. Deep in the armchair, she thought how easy it would be to get used to this level of comfort, the ease of absolute wealth. To have someone light lights, refresh drinks. At some unseen request from Sarah, a maid came in with cheese, crackers, fruits, and various kinds of pâté and set them down. The drapes were drawn. Sarah need not concern herself with chores to be done or dishes waiting. It was hard to imagine living like this, every day.
    Eventually, Miyamoto rose from his chair, yawning.
    “If you will excuse us, I think it is bedtime for us. We have an early start.”
    Mrs. Miyamoto stood delicately, hovered as her husband said his good nights, and then Sarah walked the couple to the staircase. Glenda also stood, stretched, and gave James Dempsey a tap on the head.
    “Have to hit the road. Busy day tomorrow. You want a ride back?”
    James regarded her with amusement. He, too, had drunk a little too much and he had a sleepy smile.
    “We could get an early start in the morning.”
    “You drove up together?” Scott asked.
    “Yep. My car,” Glenda said. She turned back to James. “Last chance.”
    Sarah, coming back into the room, intervened.
    “Oh, no. Stay, please. I have rooms ready all over the house.”
    James raised an eyebrow and looked at Glenda.
    “Well?” he asked.
    “You stay,” said Glenda. “But I gotta go.”
    “You’re not going to drive back with Glenda?” Scott asked James. “It’s a heck of a long drive for her alone, this late.”
    “Really, people, come on! James should stay and Glenda, too,” said Sarah.
    Glenda remained firm, shaking her head.
    “Can’t do it,” she said, picking up her purse. “I’ve got a hearing first thing. And an opposition I promised to help with.”
    “A hearing?” Scott asked. “Not for our department. What’s the opposition?”
    “Litigation department. Opposition to a motion for summary judgment. For Mitt Lindsay.”
    “When’s it due?”
    “Day after