A Rather Curious Engagement Read Online Free PDF Page A

romantic dramas he directed for cable TV.
    “I never told you this,” he said, “but I wasn’t always a nighttime historical soaper hack. I used to shoot good documentaries, and damn it, they won awards— real awards. Revolutions, wars, hostage crises, election fraud. I was there, baby. Did I ever tell you about the time I went to Panama?” He sighed heavily. “But then the kids were born, and, well, Cheryl’s a great scriptwriter and these historical romance movies pay the tuition. But,” he added hopefully, “documentary films are making big money now in theatrical release. It would be a good investment, Penny. I’d make it pay.”
    “Aw, gee, Bruce,” I said with genuine regret. “It sounds like a great idea. But Jeremy and I have been getting so many requests like this, that the accountant won’t even release the money till we sit down with him.”
    “To protect you from shameless slobs like me,” Bruce said in his self-deprecating way. “I understand.” For a moment his tone turned unexpectedly fatherly. “That’s exactly what you should do. Well, if you decide you’re interested, will you call me? I’ll present it to you in a way that your accountant will like, with all the marketing research and data I’ve got, so he can show it to anybody he wants, to verify that it’s solid.”
    “Of course,” I said, genuinely touched by his sincerity.
    Erik telephoned shortly afterward; he had his spies and he’d found out what was afoot. When I told him how badly I felt about putting Bruce off, Erik was outraged.
    “Don’t you dare give Bruce or anybody else a chunk of your inheritance!” he admonished. “Nobody cared about your welfare when you were scraping by with barely enough money for rent and canned beans! Penny, sweetheart, mark my words: Life doesn’t often give you a chance like this, to do what you want. Take it!”
    For every “friend-who-need-lots-of-money” tale I had to tell, Jeremy had six. Guys at the office wanted him to invest in their Internet brainchild. Others simply wanted to advise him where to invest; and more often than not their advice conflicted with one another. Gold. Biotech. Blue chips. The Thai stock market. Biofuel. Futures. China. We telephoned the accountant, and his instructions were, “Pick one thing you want to invest in that you really feel strongly about, perhaps something that matters to you personally. Do the research, but make no promises. See you on Monday at ten.”
    Well, to tell an historical researcher to “do the research” is a big mistake. Within a week my head—and my computer—were filled with far too much information about the world. But the accountant had said to pick something that mattered to us “personally”, and one day, I finally figured out what that was.
    Our own little business enterprise. I didn’t know exactly what it would be yet, but I knew I had to find it a home. So, that Sunday just before our meeting with the accountant, sitting in Great-Aunt Penelope’s second-floor apartment, I presented my brainstorm to my pal.
    “Jeremy,” I announced, “I have the perfect investment for us. It’s right here, under our noses . . .” and here I paused dramatically—“We should buy up this entire townhouse!”
    The sun was pouring in through the big windows that fronted on to the street, overlooking a lovely green square with great old trees. We were sitting in Aunt Pen’s cozy library, in the small wing chairs opposite the bookcases, with the pretty round table between us, and a fire in the fireplace crackling away.
    Jeremy looked suitably impressed. “That’s quite ambitious,” he said.
    “Well, I had a little talk with Doris, the elderly lady who lives on the third floor,” I said in a low voice, even though I couldn’t possibly be overheard. “She told me that she and her husband have decided to sell up and retire to Spain. They have a little house there, and they’re ready to make the break, she says. Asked me