Her Own Rules. Barbara Taylor Bradford

nodded.

      Meredith went on. “Blanche knows I’m coming up tonight. I’m staying at Silver Lake, there’s no point in having her open up the house for one night. Jonas will stay over and drive me up to Sharon tomorrow morning, to meet the potential buyers. After the meeting at Hilltops I’ll come straight back to the city, and I’ll leave for London on Saturday as planned.”

      Meredith picked up a manila folder and handed it to Amy. “Here’re my letters, all signed, and a bunch of checks for Lois.” Leaning back in her chair, she finished with, “Well, I guess that’s it.”

      “No…you have e-mail, Meredith.”

      Meredith swung around to face her computer on the narrow table behind her chair, peered at the screen.

      Thurs. Jan 5 1995

      Hi Mom:

      Thanks for check. Helps. Have a fab trip. Go get ’em. Bring back the bacon. Luv ya loads.

      JON

      “Well, well, doesn’t he have a way with words,” Meredith said pithily, shaking her head. But she was smiling inwardly, thinking of her twenty-one-year-old son, Jonathan, who had always had the ability to amuse her. He had turned out well. Just as his sister had. She was lucky in that respect.

      Left alone in her office, Meredith studied the figures from her French partner. She thought they seemed a bit on the high side, and reminded herself that Agnes was not always as practical as she should be when it came to refurbishing. It might be possible to shave them a bit, she decided.

      Agnes D’Auberville and she had been involved in business together for the past eight years, and their partnership had been a successful one. They got on well and balanced each other, and Agnes’s flair for marketing had helped to put the inns on the map. With her long scarves and trailing skirts she was bohemian but stylish.

      Agnes ran the Paris office of Havens Incorporated and oversaw the management of the château-hotel they jointly owned in the Loire Valley. She was unable to participate financially in the acquisition of the manor house in Montfort-L’Amaury, although she was eager that they buy it. “You won’t regret it, Meredith, it’s a good investment for the company,” Agnes had said to her during their phone conversation earlier that day.

      Meredith knew that this was true. She also knew that a charming inn, situated only forty-eight kilometers from Paris, and within easy striking distance of Versailles and the forest of Rambouillet was bound to be a moneymaker, especially if it had a good restaurant.

      According to Agnes, she had already lined up a well-known chef, as well as a distinguished architect who would properly redesign the manor house, help to turn it into a comfortable inn.

      As for Patsy Canton, her English partner who had come on board ten years earlier, the story was a little different in one respect. Patsy had fallen upon two existing inns for sale and quite by accident. She believed them to be real finds.

      One was in Keswick, the famous beauty spot in the Lake District in Cumbria; the other was in the Yorkshire dales near the cathedral towns of York and Ripon. Both were popular places with foreign visitors. Again, such an inn, with its good reputation already established, would more than earn its keep.

      Unfortunately, Patsy had the same dilemma as Agnes. She was unable to put up any more money. She had already invested everything she had in Havens Incorporated; her inheritance from her parents had gone into Haddon Fields, the country inn Havens owned in the Cotswolds.

      In much the same way Agnes did in Paris, Patsy oversaw the management of Haddon Fields, and ran the small London office of Havens. Her strong suits were management and public relations.

      Meredith let out a small sigh, thinking about the problems she was facing. On the other hand, they weren’t really unsurmountable problems, and, in the long run, the two new inns in Europe were going to be extremely beneficial to the company.

      Expansion had been her idea, and hers alone, and she was determined to see it through; after all, she was the majority stockholder of Havens and the chief executive officer. In essence it was her company, and she was responsible for all of its operations.

      Henry Raphaelson had told her at the beginning of the week that the bank would lend her the money she needed for her new acquisitions. The inns Havens already owned would be used as collateral for the loan. But Silver Lake Inn was not included. Henry had agreed to this stipulation of hers, if somewhat reluctantly, because she had convinced him Hilltops would be sold quickly. And hopefully she was right. With a little luck Elizabeth and Philip Morrison would commit to it the next day. Of course they will, she told herself, always the eternal optimist.

      Pushing back her chair, Meredith rose and crossed to the lacquered console against the long wall, where she had put her briefcase earlier.

      Tall though she was, she had a shapely, feminine figure and long legs. She moved with lithesome grace and swiftness; in fact, she was generally quick in everything she did, and she was full of drive and energy.

      At forty-four Meredith Stratton looked younger than her years. This had a great deal to do with her vitality and effervescent personality as well as her youthful face and pale blonde hair worn in a girlish pageboy. This framed her rather angular, well-defined features and arresting green eyes.

      Good-looking though she was, it was her pleasant demeanor and a winning natural charm that captivated most people. She had a way about her that was unique, and she left a lasting impression on all who met her.

      Meredith carried her briefcase back to the desk, a glass tabletop mounted on steel sawhorses, and filled it with the manila folders and other papers she had been working on all day. After closing it and placing it on the floor, she picked up the phone and dialed her daughter’s number.

      “It’s me,” Meredith said when Catherine answered.

      “Hi, Mom!” Catherine exclaimed, sounding genuinely pleased to hear her mother’s voice. “How’re things?”

      “Pretty good. I’m off to London and Paris on Saturday.”

      “Lucky thing! Can I come with you?”

      “Of course! I’d love it. You know that, darling.”

      “I can’t, Mom, much as I’d enjoy playing hookey in Paris with you, having a good time. I have to finish the illustrations for Madeleine McGrath’s new children’s book, and I’ve several book jackets lined up. Oh but I can dream, can’t I?”

      “Yes, you can, and I’m so glad things are going well for you with your work. But if you suddenly decided you can get away, call Amy. She’ll book your flight and get you a ticket before you can even say Jack Robinson.”

      Catherine began to laugh. “I haven’t heard you use that expression for years, not since I was a kid. You told me once where it came from, but now I can’t remember. It’s such an odd expression.”

      “Yes, it is, and it’s something I learnt when I was growing up in Australia. I think it originated in England and was brought over by the Pommies. Australians started to use it, and I guess it became part of our idiomatic speech. Sort of slang, really.”

      “Now I remember, and you told us that it meant in a jiffy.”

      “Less than a jiffy, actually,” Meredith said, laughing with her daughter. “Anyway, think about coming to Paris or London. You know how much I enjoy traveling with you. How’s Keith?”

      Catherine let out a long sigh. “He’s fantastic…yummy.”

      “You sound happy, Cat.”

      “Oh I am, Mom, I am. I’m crazy about him.”

      “Is it getting serious?”

      “Very.” Catherine cleared her throat. “Mom, I think he’s going to propose soon.”

      For a split