A Proper Wife

“There’s no point,” he answered.

James looked at him. “A man’s wife runs off and he thinks there’s no point in getting in touch and asking why? The modern world is strange, my boy. Very strange.”

Ryan sighed and got to his feet. “Grandfather,” he said gently, “I think you may be a bit confused about the circumstances here. Devon didn’t run off, she walked out. Calmly, coolly, and very deliberately. And I’ve told you the reason—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve told me. Because she didn’t want to stay married to you any longer.”

“And because I felt the same way.” Ryan’s mouth thinned. “She wasn’t really my wife, Grandfather. Do you remember? I told you about the contract she and I signed. I told you about it before the wedding, and you said you understood. You said—”

“For pity’s sake, Ryan, I am not senile. I know what you said and I know what I said.” James’s bushy white eyebrows knotted across the bridge of his nose. “I also know what any fool with half a brain can see. You fell in love with that girl, Ryan, and you are still in love with her.”

Ryan flushed and put his glass of cognac down on the fireplace mantel.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I am never silly, young man.”

“Look, Grandfather, I know you have this dream that I’ll find the perfect woman, marry her, settle down and have kids but—”

“You did find the perfect woman,” James said sternly. “And you let her slip away from you.”

“The only thing ‘perfect’ about Devon was her acting ability.”

“Nonsense. She adored you.”

Ryan laughed. “She adored my money, you mean.”

“Ryan, you are my flesh and blood and I love you—but sometimes I wonder if you didn’t inherit your brains from your mother’s side of the family. Adored your money, indeed! If that’s the case, why hasn’t she touched her trust account?”

“How should I know?”

“And her charge accounts—did you ever get around to canceling them?”

Ryan frowned. “She probably forgot she had them.”

“Ah. Well, that would be logical, wouldn’t it? This avaricious creature would certainly tend to forget she had unlimited credit and a fat trust account.”

“Two,” Ryan mumbled.

“What?”

“Two trust accounts. I, ah, I set one up for her myself. I thought—it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Even better,” James said crossly. “She hasn’t touched two trusts and who knows how many credit cards. Yes, that certainly fits the profile of a greedy female who married you for your money.”

“She married me because it was what her mother wanted,” Ryan said, his tone sharp. “Believe me, Grandfather, Devon showed a true daughter’s devotion to her mother, right to the end.”

“I’m sure that has some deep, dark meaning,” James said testily, “but it doesn’t hold water, considering that Devon’s hardly had anything to do with her mother since she left New York.”

Ryan’s frown deepened. “How do you know that?”

“Bettina phoned me. She was all sniffles and tears.”

“I’ll bet. She wanted money, I suppose.”

“She wanted to know what had happened here, to turn Devon against her. It seems the girl only drops her an occasional card and phones less frequently than that.”

“What are you talking about? Why would Devon have to write her postcards when they both live in San Francisco?”