That was when I launched into my plea for him to allow us to have a cocktail party in this house. I watched as his expression changed, and I saw the “no” word forming on his lips.

He put it gracefully. “Miss Lansing,” he began.

“Please call me Kay.”

“I thought your name was Kathryn.”

“On my birth certificate and to my grandmother.”

He laughed. “I understand.” Then he began his polite refusal. “Kay, I’d be happy to write a check…”

I interrupted him. “I’m sure you would. But as I wrote, this is more than just about money. We need volunteers to teach people how to read, and the best way to get them is to make them want to come to an affair, and then sign them up. I know a great caterer who has promised to reduce his price if the event is held here. It would just be for two hours, and it would mean so much to so many people.”

“I have to think about it,” Peter Carrington said as he stood up.

The meeting was over. I thought quickly and decided there was nothing to lose by adding one final thing: “Mr. Carrington, I’ve done of lot of research about your family. For generations this was one of the most hospitable homes in Bergen County. Your father and grandfather and great-grandfather supported local community activities and charities. By helping us now, you could do so much good, and it would be so easy for you.”

I had no right to feel so terribly disappointed, but I did. He didn’t respond, and without waiting for him or his assistant to show me out, I retraced my steps to the door. I did pause to take a quick glance to the back of the house, thinking of the staircase I had sneaked up all those years ago. Then I left, sure that I had made my second and final visit to the mansion.

Two days later Peter Carrington’s picture was on the cover of Celeb, a national weekly gossip rag.