Imogen Hawkes noticed the minute hand of the clock on Hammersly's desk.  It was spinning, a sure sign that her emotions had gotten out of control.  In her mind she heard her mother reminding her that she must always remain calm.  She took a sip of tea as she tried to comply with that inner voice.

"I do realize this is quite upsetting for you," William Hammersly said in a soothing tone.  A handsome man in his forties with dark hair that showed gray at the temples, he sat in the leather chair across from hers, his chiseled features wearing a well-practiced expression of distant benevolence.  He reached over, lifted a folder from his elegant mahogany desk, and thumbed through the contents.  "Unfortunately, there is no record of any agreement that you might have had with the bank.  I'm afraid either the note will need to be brought up to date on the 7th of August, or the Trust will be forced to begin foreclosure proceedings."

Imogen regarded him over the edge of her teacup.  Her agreement with Mr. Solomon at the First National Bank had been a verbal one, but the banker's promise clearly hadn't been enough to stop Solomon from selling her mortgage to the Adirondack Trust, putting her under Hammersly's thumb.  "How much is it in arrears?"

"At this time, about nine thousand dollars."  His tone sounded sympathetic.

When she set down the tea cup, it clattered in the saucer, but she managed to keep her voice steady.  "I'll have the money by the 7th."

Hammersly leaned forward and daringly laid a hand over hers.  Even through her glove, she could feel the warmth of his fingers.  Her own were icy.  "I hope you'll remember that you can always come to me," he said.  "As a neighbor, Mrs. Hawkes, and, I trust, as a friend."

She glanced down at the fingers covering hers on the arm of the chair.  "That won't be necessary, Mr. Hammersly."

"I do hold you in great regard, Mrs. Hawkes," he said.  "My offer is still open to you, should you find yourself in dire straits.  Please remember that.  You know that I have always..."