“Exactly,” Thomas said. “I told her she should be ashamed of herself.” He grinned in fond memory. “She is, of course, quite desirable.”
Saint could think of nothing to say.
“She wants to marry me, you know, and since I’m as elusive as hell, I suppose she thought she would compromise me.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told her no, and that this evening I was going to spend the night making love to a woman who expected nothing from me. For a while there, I thought she would expire with hysterics.”
Saint shook his head. “Thomas, the gentlemen of San Francisco salute you!”
Thomas sat forward in his chair, his glass between his knees. “Bunker wants me to come to work for him in the foundry. I’m not certain that’s what I want.”
“Doing what?”
Thomas shrugged. “Probably a glorified office boy to start with. Somehow, working for my father-in-law doesn’t seem too smart a thing to do.”
“No, I would agree.”
“I want to be a doctor, Saint.”
Saint leaned back, his arms behind his head. “I think,” he said finally, “that you should determine if that is really what you want by working with me. I could teach you a goodly amount. If you decide in, say, six months that you wish to continue, I think you should go back East, to Boston or New York, for your formal training.”
They continued discussing the pros and cons until Lydia arrived. Ten minutes later, they heard Jules’s voice. Thomas watched Saint’s face harden, his eyes glitter.
“Well,” Thomas said, rising quickly. “I think I’ll be going out now. I’ve got to spend some time with Morton David, an interesting man. Of all things, he’s an actor, Shakespeare and all that.” Thomas paused a moment in the doorway and said quietly, “Good luck, Saint.”
Saint heard him greet his sister with an affectionate “You look like hell, Jules. Go comb your hair, you look a fright.”
Jules knew Michael was in the parlor, but she didn’t want to see him. She went upstairs and stayed there until after Lydia had left. She heard him call to her.
She eased into her chair at the foot of the dining table. He handed her the several dishes, saying nothing.
“I trust you had an interesting day,” Saint said finally, laying down his fork.
“No, not really,” Jules said.
“Oh? You found Byrony boring?”
“No, she was quite charming. She wanted me to ask you if she could come by tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Certainly.”
He wasn’t angry and it made her very wary. “Michael,” she said, taking the offensive, “I am bored! I do nothing except sit around and brush my hair!”
“Fine, I’ll dismiss Lydia and you can take over her duties.”
That shut her up, Saint thought, but only for a moment.
She thrust her chin upward. “So, if I can’t be anything else, you’ll allow me to be your housekeeper!”
“What else do you want to be?”
“Would you pay me what you pay Lydia?”
Elusive chit, he thought. “Probably not—you haven’t her experience or skill.”
He sat back and watched her, knowing he’d spiked her guns.