by Tinnean
It wouldn’t have been lethal, of course. It would simply have left him in dire need of a restroom.
“I suppose I should thank you for not shooting my son.”
He looked around quickly, but I’d already made sure there was no one within earshot. “You mean at the warehouse last summer? Why would I want to shoot him?” He grinned easily. “He’s a good man, even if he is a spook.”
“I still appreciate it. I’m rather fond of him.”
“Yeah? Well, it would be a waste.”
I regarded my son thoughtfully. “Quinton, are you involved with Mark Vincent?”
“Of course I’m not involved with him, Mother! He’s WBIS. I’m CIA.” However, his gaze lingered on Vincent.
A slim man slightly taller than me strolled up to us. “Portia, how good to see you.”
“James! Quinton, this is James Sumner-Sumner. James, have you met my son, Quinton?”
“No, but I’d recognize him as Nigel Mann’s son. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Sir.”
“Please, call me James. Portia, may I have this dance?”
“I’d like nothing better.”
“Enjoy, Mother.”
* * * *
James walked with me off the dance floor after an enjoyable merengue. “Dancing is thirsty work. May I fetch you a drink, dear lady?”
I smiled at him. “If you wouldn’t mind?”
“You prefer Manhattans, if I recall correctly.”
“Yes. How kind of you to remember.”
His eyes twinkled. “As if I could forget!” He brought my hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across the back of it. “You and Nigel were both so kind to a young attaché who had just landed his first position on this side of the Pond.”
And he had been so surprised, although he’d tried very hard to conceal it. After all, Mr. Freeze and his ice queen of a wife were the least likely of any to come to the rescue of a young man who’d gotten into what could have proved to be serious trouble. If those photos of him in the company of a very naked, very male companion had been made public, he would have lost his position and not only been sent home in disgrace, but could have been imprisoned as well. So while Nigel hustled them back into their clothes and on their way, I distracted the photographer, managing to liberate the roll of film in the process.
I patted James’s hand, and he strutted off toward the bar. He was such a sweet man, and he and his “companion” had been together for more than thirty years.
That was when Nigel and I still thought we had the rest of our lives to spend together.
In a manner of speaking, we had, I supposed. It just wasn’t as long as we’d expected.
Abruptly, I was hailed.
“Portia Mann! Such a sad look for such a lovely lady! What can I do to cheer you up?” It was Senator Wexler, and for a moment I was tempted to spit out a curse. His attentions were bordering on harassment. If none of the men I’d met over the years had tempted me, why would this odious worm think otherwise?
“Senator. I assure you I’m not in the least sad.” I hoped the chill tone would clue him in to the fact that I wasn’t interested in having a conversation with him, but he ignored it.
“I’m so enchanted to see you here tonight!” He reached for my hand and squeezed it, his grip moist and just short of painful.
I retrieved my hand. Would it help if I took out a restraining order? The public embarrassment might be what was needed to make him realize I had no intention of letting him touch me, let alone take me to bed.
“Are you…uh…here with someone?” He scowled and glared around the room.
“Yes, my son accompanied me.”
His displeased scowl was quickly replaced with a patently false smile. “I declare, little lady, I find it amazing that you have a grown son. Nigel must have snatched you right out of the cradle!”
“It’s hardly kind of you to make fun of my height, Senator.” I detested the familiar way he spoke my husband’s name, as if they had been the closest of friends. Nigel would have cut down this man with a cool look and colder words.
“What? I don’t follow you.”
What was the point in trying to explain? “Never mind. I understand your committee is tied up on the Hill. Shouldn’t you be there as well?”
“Duty, fair lady, strictly duty. I dislike these affairs. Always filled with foreigners.”
“Nevertheless, I am surprised to see you here.”
“Oh, but surely…The message I included with your flowers…By the way, did you enjoy them?”
“I sent them to a shelter. I was sure they’d be more appreciated there.”
For a second he looked furious, and I tightened my grip on my purse. If he took a step toward me, I would hit him over the head with it.
A young man approached, and he smoothed his expression. “Ah, Curtin. I’ll have a Rob Roy. Portia, my dear, may I have my aide get you a drink?”
“No, thank you. Mr. Sumner-Sumner is getting me one.” Those waiting to be served at the bar were still three and four deep around it, so I could expect no aid from that quarter.
“That British fa—”
“Senator, you’ll refrain from calling my friends names.” Oh for the days of fans, when I could have given him a sharp rap with one.
He beetled his brows and opened his mouth, but when he met my gaze, he apparently changed his mind about what he’d been about to say. “Yes, of course. Simply a joke. I meant nothing by it, I assure you.” His expression couldn’t have been sourer if he’d bitten into a lemon.
“Sir!” His aide leaned close to him and whispered furiously.
“Yes, yes. I’m capable of dealing with this. Get my drink.”
His aide glared at him and then stalked toward the bar.
“Now, tell me, dear lady. When will you have dinner with me?”
Never. “I don’t see Elizabeth.” I used the excuse of searching for his wife to see if possibly Quinton was in the vicinity.
“She was unable to attend.” Wexler stepped in front of me as if trying to cut me off from the rest of the people in the room.
Mother had taught me above all else not to be rude, but it seemed I had no choice. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“Allow me to accompany you!”
“To the ladies’ lounge?”
“Oh…er…uh…Heh heh. I’ll wait here for you.”
“You do that.” I gave him a cold smile and walked away. And I’ll make sure I keep the width of the ballroom between us.
* * * *
I sat before a mirrored vanity, tucking a strand of hair into my French twist and giving some thought as to how comfortable Quinton had appeared to be with Mark Vincent.
Someone sank down beside me. “Portia.”
I swiveled around. “Allison? I thought you were in Palm Springs.”
“Yes. But then I felt I should be here to support Chance.” She looked tired, and older than I’d ever seen her. “Oh my God, the food is awful!”
I breathed a sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have to lie to my good friend about it.
“I don’t understand. Chance is an amazing cook, and what he prepares for us at home is literally to die for. How do I tell him how horrible this menu was?”
“Quinton said he’d want to know.”
“Yes, but my husband isn’t your son.” She grimaced and opened her purse. “I need a cigarette.”
I placed my hand over hers. “Allison, you don’t smoke, and even if you did, you couldn’t smoke in here.”
She sighed and closed her purse. “You’re right.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No. You’ve already got your hands full with that insufferable Senator Wexler. I don’t understand how Elizabeth can put up with him.”
“There’s no accounting for taste.”
“I know.” She sighed again. “I’m the last one to talk. Did I mention Chance’s sister is studying for her real estate license? I can see I’l
l have to throw business her way.”
“Why?”
“Would you believe because I want to make Chance happy?”
“Is there any way I can help? Shall I have Quinton ask his associates at State?” My friend might suspect that Quinton worked elsewhere as well, but she wouldn’t ask and I wouldn’t confirm.
“It’s sweet of you to offer his help. Let’s hold off, shall we? I’d like to see if Francesca can succeed on her own. But enough about her. I’m actually here tonight because I wanted to surprise Chance.”
“And did you succeed?”
“He has no idea I’m here. He’s been tied up in the kitchen.”
“Allison, what’s wrong?”
“He’s so young, and he needs to be independent. I’m his wife, not his mother. If he can’t make a success of this enterprise…” For a moment she was lost in thought, and then she shook her head. “Well, I’m just going to enjoy him for as long as I have him.”
“Perhaps you’re selling him short? You’re a vibrant, intelligent woman—”
“Who’s old enough to be his mother.”
I continued as if she hadn’t interrupted me. “—and you didn’t twist his arm in order to make him marry you.”
“You’re right.” That didn’t seem to cheer her, though. “I blame that damned dimple.” Chance Dashwood was an extremely handsome blond. His cheeks were chiseled, his jaw square, and his chin had a dimple that made grown women want to lick it. “What about you, Portia?”
“It’s an attractive dimple, but I never felt any desire to explore it,” I teased, hoping to distract her. I wasn’t successful.
“As if I didn’t know that. You’re just being silly. You should find someone, even if you don’t want to remarry, someone to escort you to balls like this, or your charity affairs.”
“I do have someone,” I assured her patiently.
“I don’t mean your son. I saw him earlier, by the way. He’s looking very well.” She didn’t give me a chance to thank her. “You need companionship, Portia. There is a life after Nigel.”
“Yes, but do you know, Allison, it just isn’t the same.”
“I don’t know whether to pity you or envy you.”
“There’s no need to do either. Now, how are your children?”
“Ian had sympathy morning sickness! Did you ever hear of that?”
“I can’t say that I did. Nigel never complained of it, at any rate.”
“I enjoyed being pregnant,” she mused. “Except for the morning sickness, the indigestion, the constipation. What we suffer for our children.”
I patted her hand. I wasn’t going to tell her I hadn’t suffered from any of those. “How’s Tommy?” I thought fondly of my godson. “Is he still seeing that girl…Danielle?”
“No, she ran off with one of his friends.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What is Tommy up to these days?”
“I…” She glanced quickly around the room, and then lowered her voice. “I think he might be…gay.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I happened to come across a website—I wasn’t snooping! He was supposed to upload…update…I don’t know…’up’ something or other on my computer, and when I opened the browser, I found…I’m an adult woman, Portia, and I had some idea what two men did together, but to actually see it—”
“Shocking?”
“Actually, it was arousing. Although if his father should learn of this…”
“Clarkson’s an ass. How do you feel about it?”
“Really, Portia. Your brother is gay. How do you feel about that?”
“He’s my brother. No matter whom he chooses to love, he’ll always be my brother.”
“Exactly. And Tommy will always be my son.”
I patted her hand again. “Forgive me for saying this, but since he’s my godson, I have the right. I hope he practices safe sex, no matter who his partner is.”
“I know, but I can hardly bring that up to him. At least you had Gregor to talk to Quinton. By the way, how is Gregor’s sister?” Allison knew Alyona not only from the dinner parties I’d hosted, but from the time she’d spent in Great Falls. “Too bad she’s up in New York. Chance could have hired her!”
I couldn’t help laughing. “She would have run his kitchen like a general. She’s doing well, thank you for asking.” I was afraid the cold weather in New York would affect her joints, but she never complained of it. “Gregor usually goes up to see her and their cousins around Thanksgiving. I’m considering going with him this year, and Quinton as well if he has some spare time.”
I gave a thought to how frequently he seemed to be in Mark Vincent’s company this evening. That wasn’t to say he neglected his responsibilities, because even though he was attending this ball at my request, he still represented State. “Now, shall we rejoin the party?”
“We may as well.” She smoothed on a fresh coat of lipstick, and we left the lounge.
“Do you see Wexler anywhere?” I asked.
“The pompous fool. I think he’s by the bar.”
“Then I’m off in the other direction. Ah, there’s Elise Franklin.” She was the wife of a senator who was on the Appropriations Committee along with Senator Wexler. I found it interesting that both senators were here tonight—Senator Franklin had been talking with Mark Vincent earlier. “I want to speak with her about the abuse counseling we’re thinking of setting up for the women’s shelter.”
“That’s a good idea. Let me know what you decide. And now I’d better go see if I can find Chance.”
“Good luck, Allison.”
“I’ll manage somehow. I always do, don’t I? Oh God, that sounded pitiful! I’m so sorry!”
“No need to be.” She was a strong woman, and if she hadn’t been so enamored with being a mother and wife all those years ago, I would have suggested she submit her resume to the NSA. “You have my phone number. If there’s anything I can do for you, call me.”
“Alli!” Her husband appeared out of nowhere. Unlike the usual houndstooth trousers worn by professional chefs, he wore a tuxedo. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I had to hear it from my sous-chef!”
“Chance. I wanted to surprise you.” She would have kissed his cheek, but he turned his head and their lips met. Her hand crept up to caress his throat, and he shivered.
“You have! I thought you’d be in Palm Springs! I’m so happy you’re here!” And either he was an excellent actor, or he meant those words. “Come dance with me, sweetheart. Oh! Hullo, Mrs. Mann. I didn’t see you there.”
“Hello, Chance.”
“You’ll excuse us, won’t you?”
“Certainly. Enjoy the music, Allison.” And we parted company.
* * * *
Chapter 28
Our discussion about the counselor we were thinking of hiring complete, we were now talking about family.
“Sully looks dashing in his Service Dress Blues,” she said about her son. “And in spite of the fact that I’m so proud of his choice to join the Navy, I do worry about him.”
“Don’t all mothers worry?”
“Yes. We can only hope the men they follow are capable and smart enough to keep them out of harm’s way.”
“Portia!” It was Wexler again.
“And honorable would be nice as well,” I added sotto voce. “Senator.”
“Now, now, didn’t I tell you to call me Richard?”
“Senator.” If he was going to be so aggravating, I saw no need to accommodate him. “You know Elise Franklin, I’m sure. Her husband is on the Appropriations Committee with you.”
“Oh…er…yes. It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Franklin.”
“Senator.”
“Your husband was looking for you. Something about a dance.”
“Indeed?” The expression on her face revealed her disbelief. “Thank you. Portia, I’ll see you in a week or so.” And she took the opportunity to escape Wexler’s vicinity.
; Fortunately Quinton was once more in the room. In between dances with the wives and daughters of dignitaries—and the occasional mistress—I’d seen him talking with Mark Vincent. Both appeared to be enjoying themselves.
Just now, however, Quinton was alone.
I raised my left hand and toyed with the black pearl in my ear, and Quinton sauntered over to join us.
“Senator, you know my son, Quinton, I believe? He’s assistant to the undersecretary at State.”
“How do you do, Senator?”
“Son. I told Portia earlier that she doesn’t look old enough to have a son working for the government.”
At that moment Quinton was very much his father’s son. No one would have known simply by looking at him how very much he loathed being called “son”‘ by any man not his father, but most especially this man.
“She has kept herself well, hasn’t she?” His sardonic tone went right over the officious man’s head. “Mother, are you ready to leave? I’m afraid I need to make an early night of it.”
“Certainly, sweetheart. Just let me visit the ladies’ lounge.” I made my escape. There was no need for Quinton to go out of his way to drive me home. Fortunately Gregor had told me earlier he would be in the Capitol. I’d place a call to him.
* * * *
Once the call was complete, it was simply a matter of waiting until Gregor arrived. Perhaps Wexler would have recalled there was somewhere else he needed to be by the time I rejoined my son?
Unfortunately, he was still bending Quinton’s ear, but as I watched, Mark Vincent approached and routed the senator by asking a loaded question: “Tell me, Senator, have you stopped beating your wife?”
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.
Wexler flushed scarlet and began to babble. “It’s…I don’t…I need to let Daren know we won’t need…My apologies to your mother, please, Mann. Vincent.” And Wexler hurried off.
Quinton realized I was there, and he smiled ironically. “Mother, you’ll be sorry to hear Senator Wexler is unavailable to drive you home.”
“I’m heartbroken.”
Vincent stared at me, a slightly baffled expression on his face. I raised a questioning eyebrow, but he shook his head and looked over the room, something I’d noticed him do quite frequently.