Her Own Rules. Barbara Taylor Bradford

coffee, lost in their own thoughts. It was Meredith who spoke first, when she said, “As you know, the asking price for the inn is four million dollars, and so far I’ve not budged from that figure. Between us, I would come down a bit, just to make the sale. What’s your assessment of them regarding the price?”

      “It’s hard to say,” Paul replied, looking thoughtful. After a moment or two’s reflection, he went on. “I’d stick to your guns for a bit and see what happens. But just be mentally prepared to accept three million.”

      She shook her head. “No way, Paul, I’ve got to get three and a half million, at least. Anyway, the inn’s worth that…in fact, it’s worth four. My real estate people actually valued it at four and a half.”

      “But you’ve always said to me that someone’s got to want to buy a property to make it a viable holding, an asset.”

      “I know, I know, but I really do need three and a half million dollars for my expansion program,” Meredith said, putting her cup down with a clatter. “The two inns in Europe are going to cost money, and I’d like to have something left over from this sale for operating costs and to plow back into Havens.”

      “Look, Meredith, I’m sure the Morrisons are quite well placed. He’s worked on Wall Street for years, and she’s been one of the partners in an ad agency on Madison Avenue. In any case, when you meet them, talk to them, you’ll be able to judge for yourself what the freight can bear.”

      “Too true…why try to second guess?”

      There was a knock on the door, and as Paul called, “Come in!” it opened.

      The receptionist looked in and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Morrison have arrived.”

      Paul nodded. “Show them in, Doris, please.”

      Several seconds later Paul was introducing Elizabeth and Philip Morrison to Meredith. Once the handshakes were over, they all sat down in the chairs near the fire.

      Meredith said, “Can I offer you something? Coffee, tea, a soda, perhaps?”

      “No, thank you,” Mrs. Morrison said.

      Her husband shook his head and murmured something about just having had breakfast. Then he began to speak to Paul about the weather, the snow on the roads, and the drive over from Lakeville, where they owned a weekend home.

      Mrs. Morrison looked across at Meredith and said, “I love the way you’ve decorated Hilltops…it’s so charming and intimate. It reminds me of an English country house.”

      “Thank you,” Meredith said, smiling at the other woman. “I like decorating, creating a look, an ambiance. And lots of comfort for the guests, of course. I think an inn should be a haven, that’s why I called my company Havens Incorporated.”

      Elizabeth Morrison nodded. “Very apt, very apt indeed. And I think all of your little touches are wonderful. The hot water bottles in silk cases, the special reading lights by the bed, the afghans on the chaises, little luxuries like that make all the difference.”

      “That’s what I believe,” Meredith murmured, “and that’s my policy in all of the inns we own.”

      “We’ve always wanted to run an inn like this,” Mrs. Morrison confided. “And now’s the time to do it, when we’re both still young. Also, we want to get out of the city, bring up our three children in the country. The city’s become so violent, hard to take in general.”

      “I understand. I raised two children in Connecticut, and I’ve always felt lucky that I was able to do so. As you know, since you’ve been residents up here for a few years, there are plenty of good schools. Yes, it’s a great spot for a family.”

      Elizabeth Morrison was about to say something else, when she caught her husband’s warning look; she simply cleared her throat and sat back in her chair, having suddenly become a mere spectator at this meeting.

      Meredith, who missed nothing, noticed this infinitesimal exchange. She understood immediately that Philip Morrison did not want his wife saying any more. Nor did he wish her to sound too enthusiastic about the inn. He wanted her to play it cool. As he had been doing all along. He was obviously ready to deal.

      Not giving him an opportunity to start the ball rolling, Meredith jumped in with both feet.

      Staring directly at him, fixing him with an appraising eye, she said, “I know you’ve been back to look at Hilltops many times now, and that you both like it. The question is, do you really want to buy it?”

      “Yes,” Philip Morrison said. “At the right price. For us, that is.”

      “The price is four million dollars, Mr. Morrison. I think my real estate lawyer in the city has already told you that.”

      “He did. But as I told Mr. Melinger, it’s a bit steep for me.”

      “Actually, the inn is worth four million dollars, even more if the truth be known,” Meredith pointed out. “As a matter of fact, it’s true value is four and a half million dollars. You can check that with the real estate people both here and in the city. It just so happens that I’m willing to take less because I’m expanding my company. Otherwise, I’d hold out for the proper price, I can assure you.”

      “I’ll give you three million,” Philip Morrison said, glanced at his wife, and added, “That’s all we can pay, isn’t it, Liz?”

      Momentarily startled to suddenly be drawn into this exchange, she looked nonplussed. Then she said quickly, emphatically, “We’re selling our Manhattan co-op and hoping to get a mortgage on the Lakeville house, and by cashing in some of our other assets, we can raise three million. But that’s it.”

      Meredith gave her a long and thoughtful look but made no comment. Leaning forward, she picked up her cup of coffee and took a sip.

      Morrison said, “What do you say, Mrs. Stratton? Will you accept three million?”

      “No,” Meredith said, looking him right in the eye. “I can’t. As I told you, when I first decided to sell Hilltops, my original price was four and a half million dollars, because that is its true value. It’s in perfect condition. New roof, new plumbing, and new wiring in the last few years, among many other major improvements. And there’s a great deal of land attached to the inn. I came down in price only because it was suggested I do so by my advisers, in order to sell now. But I must stick at four million.”

      “Three million and a quarter,” Morrison countered.

      Meredith pursed her lips and shook her head. “Four.”

      “Three and a quarter,” he offered again.

      Meredith let out a small sigh and gave the Morrisons a slow, resigned smile, glancing from one to the other. “I tell you what, I’ll take three million seven hundred and fifty thousand.”

      “I just can’t do it,” Philip Morrison said.

      “But it’s a bargain,” Meredith stated quietly. “If you consider that the proper price is really four and a half million, I’ve just come down by three quarters of a million dollars.”

      Philip Morrison smiled wryly. “But we’ve always been talking four million, not four and a half, Mrs. Stratton, let’s not forget that, shall we?”

      Meredith made no response.

      She rose and walked across to the bank of windows overlooking the lake, and stood there staring out at the view for a few moments.

      Finally, when she swung around, she said, “You want the inn. I want to sell it. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll compromise. I’ll sell it to you for three point five million.”

      The Morrisons exchanged pointed glances.

      At last Philip Morrison said, “I’d like to do it, but I just don’t think I can. I can’t raise any more.”