“Right. That’s just what I planned. Really, Margo, I could use some sensible advice here.”

“Sensible’s for retirement plans.”

“Miss.” One of the customers signaled. “Could I see this pin, please?”

“Of course.” Taking up the keys, Margo moved away. “Oh, don’t you adore Art Deco? That’s a fabulous piece. I found it at an estate sale in Los Angeles. They said it once belonged to Marlene Dietrich.”

Laura scanned the shop, stifled a yawn. They were busy, she noted, but not overwhelmed. Maybe she could sneak in a quick catnap. She slid off the stool, wandered toward a customer to ask if she needed help. Prayed the answer would be no. And then the door opened.

“Peter.” She stopped in her tracks.

“I called your office at the hotel. They indicated I would find you here.”

“Yes, this is one of my regular afternoons at Pretenses.”

“Interesting.” He hadn’t been in before, had purposely stifled his curiosity about his ex-wife’s little venture into shopkeeping. Now that he was here, he took a slow, measuring study.

Candy’s description of the shop as a jumble of secondhand junk hadn’t been quite accurate. Then again, understanding his fiancée’s feelings toward Laura and her partners, he hadn’t expected it to be.

Still, neither had he expected to find the place charming, peopled with well-to-do clientele as well as the tourist trade. He hadn’t expected to be intrigued by the displays and more than a little envious of the merchandise.

“Well?” She recognized the appraisal. “What do you think?”

“It’s different, isn’t it? Certainly a change of pace for you.” He looked at her again. Still cool and lovely, he mused. Odd, he’d never have believed Laura or either of her friends had the brains, the wherewithal or the imagination to create something so appealing, so successful.

“It’s not a change of pace any longer.” She refused to allow the way he studied her, and hers, to upset her. “It is the pace.”

“I suppose you’re enjoying the distraction.”

“It’s a business, Peter, not a distraction.” Why should she expect him to understand Pretenses? He’d never understood his wife. Perhaps, she thought, he would deal much more comfortably with the new wife he’d chosen. “I doubt you came in to pick up a gift for Candy. She doesn’t care for our stock as a rule.”

“No, I came to speak with you.”

He looked around again, noted the twisting staircase, the open balcony. Then he spotted Margo, watching him with a cold look of calculated dislike. He certainly didn’t have to tolerate silent abuse from the daughter of a servant.

“Do you have an office, a private office we can use?”