Hayes leaned back, hands loosely clasped. They jarred with the white-collar businessman image, for they were callused and scratched—the hands of a manual laborer. He was much more at ease than she, Karen thought. She was babbling like a giddy student.
"I didn't get your letter until a few days ago," he explained. "I thought it might be better if we discussed the situation in person, instead of by letter or phone. But I don't want to interfere with your plans—"
"No, that's all right," Karen assured him, with the utmost sincerity.
Hayes nodded. "I had no idea that bundle of ragged papers would arouse such interest, but after I got your letter I checked with some people on the faculty at William and Mary. They said—"
"Oh, no!"
"I'm sorry. Shouldn't I have done that?"
"You had every right," Karen admitted, trying to remember if there was anyone in the English Department at William and Mary who specialized in early women's lit. Marian Beech. ... It wasn't her field, precisely, but she would spread the word. Damn, damn, damn! Why hadn't it occurred to her to ask Hayes to keep her letter confidential?
"The thing is, I wanted to keep the discovery under wraps until after I acquired the manuscript," she explained. "From your point of view, it doesn't matter; you've already sold it, so you don't stand to gain anything by increased competition."
"How painfully true. Not that I'm complaining; Mr. Hallett paid a fair price, considering that neither I nor Jack Wickett had the faintest idea of what the thing was." He moved one hand in a gesture of dismissal.
"Maybe we can still make a deal. Not on the manuscript, that's out of my hands. But I gather you are interested in other things. What, specifically?"
"Information. I did explain that I'm interested in the provenance of the manuscript?"
"Uh-huh. Well, I can tell you where I found it, but that's about all. I don't know how my great-uncle got his hands on it. You see, he ... Are you sure you've got time for this? It's rather a long story."
"I've got the time," Karen assured him. "But, Mr. Hayes, I don't want to take advantage of you. You said something about a deal—"
"I'm a businessman, Ms. Holloway. Believe me, you aren't going to take advantage of me. But I don't charge for information—especially information you could easily acquire without my assistance. Shall I go on?"
Karen nodded. She was beginning to respect Mr. Hayes. He was shrewd enough to realize that now that she knew his name, she could easily trace him, and the family history he was about to relate was probably common knowledge in his home town.
"I'll have to go back a bit to give you the picture," Hayes said. "My family has been settled in the Tidewater area for a long time. A couple of centuries, to be precise. The old homestead is called Amberley. It's on the James . . . What's the matter? Did I say something wrong?"
"No," Karen murmured. This was too good to be true. This was what she had hoped to hear.
"My great-uncle had two sons; one was killed in World War Two, the other died, without issue, sometime later. Uncle Josiah turned into a recluse, shut himself up in the house and sat there brooding, while the place fell down around his ears. He was ninety-one when he passed away, leaving only daughters to inherit."
"Then Hayes is not the family name?"
"Correct. That's what sent the old boy into a decline—the fact that there were no sons to carry on the sacred name of Cartright."
"How long ..." Karen turned the catch in her breath into a cough. She didn't want him to know how important the question and its answer were to her. "How long has the family lived at ... Amberley, you said?"
"You won't have heard of it," Hayes said. "Unlike the famous James River plantation houses, it's never been open to the public. It has neither architectural distinction nor historical associations that would attract visitors. It is old, though. According to my mother, who used to amuse herself with genealogical research, the family has lived there since the beginning of the eighteenth century. They were definitely not one of the First Families of Virginia, though."
"You don't have a Virginia accent," Karen said—though why she said it she could not imagine. It was not only irrelevant, it was none of her business.
Hayes's expression suggested that he didn't think it was any of her business either. Karen got a grip on herself. To have him turn up out of the blue, after she had almost given up hope of hearing from him, had gotten her so excited she had not been able to think clearly.
"Perhaps we had better postpone our discussion," she said briskly. "I do have another appointment, and there's someone else involved—my partner."
"I see." Hayes had been rubbing his hands absent-mindedly. Some of the reddened patches might have been poison ivy, Karen thought. When he realized she was staring at them he folded his hands again. "I wondered about that. Mr. Hallett told me you had the right of refusal on the manuscript, and I got the impression that the price was going to be pretty stiff. No offense, Dr. Holloway, but I know what academic salaries are like. You have a backer?"
"A partner," Karen repeated. "A friend of mine."
He acknowledged the correction with a faint smile. "Fair enough. We'll meet later, then. Where and when?"
After he had gone, Karen ran to the window, which overlooked the parking lot, but he didn't appear. He must have parked on the street.
Or elsewhere. Why did she have the feeling that he had kept something back? He had appeared candid enough, had spoken
