Margo knew it was bad. She'd expected it to be bad. But from the way Kate was grumbling and hissing, she understood it was going to be a hell of a lot worse.

After the first hour, she stayed out of Kate's way. It did no good to hang over her shoulder and be snapped at, so she occupied herself by unpacking, carefully hanging dresses that had been carelessly packed into the rosewood armoire, meticulously folding sweaters into the scented drawer of the mirrored bureau.

She answered Kate's occasional questions and tolerated the more than occasional abuse. Desperate gratitude flooded through her when Laura opened the door.

"Sorry I was gone so long. I couldn't—"

"Quiet. I'm trying to perform miracles here."

Margo jerked a thumb at the terrace. "She's working on my books," Margo explained when they were outside. "You can't imagine what she pulled out of her briefcase. This little laptop computer, a calculator I'm sure could run equations for the space shuttle, even a fax."

"She's brilliant." With a sigh, Laura sat down on one of the wrought-iron chairs and slipped out of her shoes. "Templeton would hire her in a heartbeat, but she's very stubborn about not working for family. Bittle and Associates is lucky to have her."

"What is this crap about seaweed?" Kate shouted.

"It's a spa treatment," Margo called back. "I think it's deductible because—"

"Just let me do the thinking. How the hell can you owe fifteen thousand dollars to Valentino? How many outfits can you wear?"

Margo sat down. "It probably wouldn't be smart for me to tell her that was for one cocktail dress."

"I'd say not," Laura agreed. "The kids will be home from school in an hour or so. They always put her in a good mood. We'll have a family dinner to celebrate your homecoming."

"Did you tell Peter I was here?"

"Of course. You know, I think I'll make sure we have champagne chilled."

Before Laura could rise, Margo covered her hand. "He's not pleased with the news."

"Don't be silly. Certainly he's pleased." But she began to twist her wedding ring around her finger, a sure sign of agitation. "He's always glad to see you."

"Laura, it isn't nearly twenty-five years of knowing you that lets me see when you're lying. It's that you're so lousy at it. He doesn't want me here."

Excuses trembled on her tongue, but they were useless. It was true, Laura admitted, lying was a skill she'd never mastered. "This is your home. Peter understands that even if he isn't completely comfortable with the situation. I want you here, Annie wants you here, and the kids are thrilled that you're here. Now I'm not only going to go see about that champagne, I'm going to go bring a bottle up here."

"Good idea." She would have to worry about guilt later. "Maybe it'll help Kate keep me in the black."