Where the Heart Chooses

by Tinnean

  “Oh?”

  “He thought I was trying to steal your mother’s john.”

  We both choked on a laugh.

  “I’m sure.” Quinton cleared his throat. “All set, Mark?”

  “Yes. Thank you for lunch, Mrs. Mann.”

  “You’re very welcome. I hope we can do this again.”

  He gave a crooked smile. “Sure.”

  “Good-bye, Mother.”

  “Good-bye, sweetheart.” I waited until his car was out of sight before I went back into the house, to find Gregor still laughing.

  * * * *

  Chapter 37

  The invitation to the ball at the Bahsrani embassy arrived in the next day’s mail. “Gregor, keep October nineteenth free, please.” I held up the vellum card.

  “Too bad it’s not a Halloween party. You could wear your black boots and carry your riding crop and go as a dominatrix.”

  “Now that’s an idea.”

  “Portia! I was joking!”

  “If I thought it would make Wexler have second thoughts about stalking me, I’d do it in an instant!” I’d called Wexler on his private line to tell him to cease and desist, hoping that would give him some idea of what I was capable, but the deluded jackass had taken it as a compliment. “However, it’s not a Halloween party, so we’ll have to set that aside for another…Gregor?”

  He stood there, gazing off into space. “Sorry. I was enjoying the image of Wexler in a ball gag and…” He shook himself out of his reverie. “I’ll make sure the Town Car is washed and waxed.”

  “Thank you. And I’d better let Madame Rosa know I’ll need a new gown.”

  The phone rang, and Gregor picked it up. “Mann residence. Hi, Quinn. Your mother and I were just talking about her dressing up as—”

  I took the phone from him. “Thank you, Gregor. Hello, sweetheart. How are you? Are you sleeping any better?”

  “Actually, I’m not. I have to go out of the country for a week or so, but once I’m back, I plan to find another therapist.”

  “I think Allison is happy with the woman she sees. Would you want me to get the name and phone number for you?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind?”

  “Not at all. Aren’t you my favorite child?”

  “I’m your only child.”

  “You’re still my favorite. But what’s this about you going out of the country?”

  “I’ve got an assignment in London. I’m flying out tomorrow. Anyway, I wanted to let you know I wouldn’t be able to ride with you on Sunday.” He said abruptly, “I…uh…have to go. I’ll see you when I get back.”

  “Have a safe flight, sweetheart.”

  We said good-bye and hung up, and I turned to find Gregor glaring at me.

  “You should have told him!”

  “He’s flying out on assignment. I won’t have him worrying about Wexler.”

  “Will you tell him when he gets home?”

  “If Wexler hasn’t stopped annoying me by that time, then yes, I will.”

  * * * *

  My cell phone rang. “Hello, Folana.”

  “Portia, why is your son in Bangkok?”

  “Excuse me? He’s in London.”

  “He’s not. And he’s looking into an operation of mine.” ‘Folana Fournaise’ might be dead, but ‘Vanessa Wood’ was still a figure to reckon with. “Oh, you needn’t worry, I shan’t harm him.”

  “Please see that you don’t. And that goes for Bart also.”

  “Of course, my dear friend. So you were unaware he’d been sent to the Far East?”

  “Obviously. I don’t suppose you know who sent him on this assignment?” Bramwell Rayner, Director of Operational Targeting, was out on sick leave.

  “Apparently an Edward Holmes gave him the orders.”

  “What else were you able to learn?”

  “At this point, nothing more. I’ll keep digging, yes?”

  “Please. Let me know what you discover. And thank you, Folana.” I hung up and worried my lower lip. Like his father, Quinton didn’t sleep well on transoceanic flights, and this could cause errors in judgment. My son’s performance over his years with the CIA was impeccable, with the number of commendations surpassing his father’s. Was someone trying to sully his record?

  I was tempted to call Mark and ask him to look into it, but I wasn’t quite ready to turn the WBIS agent loose on the CIA.

  I’d wait to hear back from Folana.

  Later in the week, Allison called to ask if I’d join her for lunch, so I met her in the café at the Madison Arms.

  “I’ll have lunch in the bar,” Gregor told me. “When you’re ready, I’ll drive you to your dressmaker.”

  “Thank you, Gregor.” I left him debating the merits of a Philly cheesesteak and a beer as opposed to a pulled pork sandwich and unsweetened ice tea, and strolled toward the café.

  “Mrs. Mann.” The hostess smiled at me. “Mrs. Dashwood is already here. If you’ll follow me?” She led me to the table where Allison was waiting. “I’ll send your server right over.”

  “Thank you, Delores. Hello, Allison.” I leaned down and kissed her cheek.

  “Portia.” Allison rested her palm against my cheek. She looked tired, but our friendship was longstanding enough that I knew she’d answer questions only when she was ready. “Sit.”

  “Would you care for another martini, Mrs. Dashwood?” our server, a young woman, asked.

  “Yes. What would you like to drink, Portia?”

  “I’ll have a Dubonnet on the rocks, please.” I waited until our server left before saying, “I thought you’d sworn off those.”

  “Not amusing, darling. I felt awful for days afterward. I’ve learned my lesson, and I’ve been sticking with ordinary gin martinis.”

  “That’s very wise.”

  “Never let it be said I don’t learn from my mistakes.”

  “Allison?” Her words made me curious as to whether she was about to walk away from another marriage, but she shook her head, and I let the subject drop. “What looks good?”

  We perused the menus. Allison decided on the soup and grilled shrimp and spinach salad. I knew their tomato bisque soup, no matter how good, wouldn’t compare with Gregor’s, and so I selected an Oriental chicken salad. When our drinks arrived, we ordered.

  Allison took a sip of her martini, then set the glass down and blotted her lips with her napkin. “Will you be attending the ball at the Bahsrani embassy?” she asked.

  “Yes. I have an appointment for my final fitting with Madame Rosa right after lunch. Gregor will be driving me.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s an attractive man.”

  Yes, he was, but, “He’s also my employee, and I have no intention of doing anything that would make either of us uncomfortable.”

  “Still, he looks like he might have something interesting in his trousers.” There was a wicked smile on her face.

  The man lived in my house. How could I avoid being aware of that? However, “Allison, we’re not having this conversation. Now, will you be at the ball?”

  The smile vanished. “No. Chance wants to take me to Costa Rica for our second anniversary.”

  “What about his business?”

  She removed the olive from her martini and shrugged. “We’ve found someone else to run it. The young man was Chance’s accountant before we married. It’s actually doing well. He may break even by the end of the year.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  She made a noncommittal sound. “Remember the last ball we attended? I was telling you about Chance’s sister?”

  “Yes. If I recall correctly, she was studying for her real estate license.”

  “Well, she’s got it. I hate to ask this of you, but if you know of anyone who’s looking for anything—house, condo, business space…”

  Quinton had mentioned Mark was looking for a new place. “Why don’t you give me her number, and
I’ll see what she has to offer? I may have someone who’ll be interested.”

  “You’re a lifesaver, Portia!” She slid a business card across the table. “I finally got her out of my house, and the last thing I want is for her to use the lack of business as an excuse to move back in.” Allison’s face was suddenly flushed.

  “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “God bless you!”

  “Which reminds me. I’d like the name and phone number of your therapist.”

  “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

  “It’s for Quinton. He’s having some difficulties sleeping.” As much as I loved Allison, I wasn’t going to tell her of his kidnapping.

  “I’m not surprised. This administration…Dr. Helms is excellent.” She took another business card from her case and handed it to me. “I think Quinn will get good results from her.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Whatever I can do for my godson. Ah, here’s our lunch!”

  * * * *

  Chapter 38

  While Gregor was driving us to Madame Rosa’s, I dialed Francesca Dashwood’s number. “Ms. Dashwood, this is Portia Mann. What can you tell me about your listings?”

  * * * *

  Tentative arrangements were made, and once my fitting was complete and I’d changed into my clothes, I dialed Mark’s number. Before I could tell him who was calling, he said, “May I call you back?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks.”

  In a matter of minutes my phone rang, and I picked up.

  “It’s Vincent, Mrs. Mann. I’m sorry I had to—”

  “That’s quite all right, Mark. I understand, I assure you.”

  “Yeah, you probably do. The WBIS doesn’t care if I’m friends with a guy, but they’d get a little bent out of shape if that guy is CIA.”

  I recalled my thoughts earlier in September.

  He misread my silence, and his next words were brisk but cold. “I won’t let that affect him, I swear.”

  “I believe you,” I assured him. “I apologize for calling at an inopportune time.”

  “Nah, that’s okay.” He sounded more relaxed. “I’m assuming Quinn gave you my number.”

  “I have my own ways of learning things, Mark.”

  “Should I be alarmed?”

  “Not as long as you don’t hurt my son.”

  “Fair enough. What can I do for you, Mrs. Mann?”

  “Quinton told me you’re in the market for a new home.”

  He was silent for a moment before saying, “He…uh…he talks to you about me?”

  “Yes. Does that bother you?”

  “No…I don’t know. I’ve never…uh…How do you feel about it, Mrs. Mann?”

  “As I said, don’t hurt my son. Now, it’s come to my knowledge that a condominium is available in Aspen Reach.”

  “Aspen Reach?”

  “Yes, it’s in Alexandria. It’s a small, gated community.”

  “Just gates? Or a guard as well?”

  “Just gates, which the residents can access with a remote. There are security cameras at the entrance. What was that?”

  He cleared his throat. “Nothing, ma’am.”

  “Yes.” I pretended I hadn’t heard him mutter, “Those cameras make me feel all warm and safe.” I swallowed a laugh and gave him a brief rundown of the amenities—golf course, tennis courts, gym, restaurant. “From what I’ve been told, it’s quite lovely.”

  “Been told by who? Whom?”

  “Francesca Dashwood. She’s the Realtor.”

  “And you trust this Dashwood woman enough that I won’t be taken to the cleaners?”

  “No. I don’t know her, Mark. She happens to be the sister-in-law of a friend of mine. Allison told me that Ms. Dashwood is offering the condominium. She asked if I’d send some business her way. I’d like to help Allison if I can. The price isn’t unreasonable.” I told him how much it was going for.

  “Y’ know, Mrs. Mann, for that type of community in Virginia, it isn’t excessive, but the thing is, there’s usually a reason if something sounds too good to be true.”

  “One might say so. Apparently something the prospective buyers learned has made them unwilling to go ahead with the deal.”

  “Do we know why?”

  “I’m sure Ms. Dashwood will be more than willing to tell us.” She would if she wanted the sale.

  “‘Us’?”

  “I’d like to see this condo myself. I haven’t been house-hunting since Quinton was looking for his townhouse.” And I wanted the opportunity to spend some time with my son’s…friend.

  “Don’t tell me. It just so happens that you’re here in the Capitol.”

  “Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I’m at Madame Rosa’s, my dressmaker.”

  “Okay, sounds like a plan.” Truthfully, I was surprised he didn’t put up more of an argument. “What can you tell me about the condo?”

  “It’s a third-floor corner unit, approximately three thousand square feet. Two bedrooms, two and a half baths.” I went on to describe the split floor plan of the condo, and then revealed what would be the most important aspect of this condo for him: whether during rush hour or off-peak, it was about a ten-minute drive to my son’s townhouse.

  “I have to admit you’ve got me interested.”

  I thought he might be. “If you’re free, Ms. Dashwood has said she’ll meet us outside the gates of Aspen Reach in three-quarters of an hour. Gregor is here as well, and he can drive us if you’d like.”

  “I’d rather drive, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Mann. Uh…does he have to come with us?”

  “Not at all.” I swallowed another laugh. He and Gregor still didn’t get along. “But he’s my ride home.”

  “I can drive you to Great Falls.”

  “Mark, it’s Friday. You have dinner with Quinton on Friday.” I’d learned this when Jack Abberley had arrived in the States a few months ago for a visit, and my son hadn’t been able to dine with us.

  “I’m meeting Mark at Raphael’s, Mother,” Quinton had told me. “It’s…a standing engagement when I’m home.”

  Last Christmas, DB had given him a gift certificate to the upscale Italian restaurant in the Capitol. Quinton must have thought very highly of it, because as it turned out, Raphael’s was their place.

  “That’s not a problem,” Mark said now.

  “Oh?” Was he already taking my son for granted? “You’re aware Quinton is home.” Shortly before Gregor and I had arrived at the café, my phone had rung. It was Quinton. I could hear how tired he was, but instead of getting some rest, he’d been ordered to State.

  “Yes, ma’am, I know.”

  “And you wouldn’t rather spend the evening with my son?”

  “Mrs. Mann, Quinn would have my a—He wouldn’t be happy if I drove you back to D.C. and then made you drive all the way back home.”

  “It’s only a half-hour drive.”

  “Yeah, but you know, we’re talking rush hour by the time we get done looking at this place. It’ll be easier if I drive you home.”

  “I’m not a wilting violet, I’ll have you know.”

  “No, ma’am. But if it comes to a choice between Quinn being pissed at me or you being pissed at me, I’ll have to go with you.”

  “I see.” I thought briefly of Bryan’s ex-wife, who would never have put my brother ahead of anything. I…liked that Mark put Quinton first. “Very well.” I gave him the directions to my dressmaker.

  “I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes, ma’am.”

  “Very good, Mark. By the way?”

  “Yes?”

  “Please stop calling me ‘ma’am’.”

  He was chuckling as he hung up.

  I smiled myself as I dialed my son’s number. It went directly to voice mail, so I left a message.

  “I’m going to look over a condominium with Mark, sweetheart. It’s listed by Allison’s sister-in-law. Allison asked m
e to send some business her way. Mark is insisting on driving me home, so I’m going to insist he stay for dinner. If you want to keep your usual Friday arrangement, I would suggest you call Gregor. He’s in town and will be more than happy to have someone to talk to on the drive home.”

  Satisfied, I hung up and stepped out of the dressing room. “Rosa, this is perfect. If you’ll see it’s boxed up, I’ll take it with me.”

  * * * *

  I didn’t like Ms. Dashwood. It had nothing to do with the fact that she loomed over me, that her breasts would challenge Pamela Anderson’s, or that she made a play for the man who accompanied me. I wouldn’t like any woman who dismissed a member of her own sex for no discernible reason. She’d given me a condescending smile, and then turned her charm, such as it was, on Mark.

  He didn’t seem to care for her attitude either, and his solution was to address me by ridiculous pet names, insinuating I was keeping him.

  I was amused by that idea. As if anyone could “keep” Mark Vincent.

  I was no longer amused when I saw the ruby drop earrings Ms. Dashwood wore. Clarkson Palmer, Allison’s first husband had given them to her after he’d cheated on her the first time. They were very garish and not to her taste, but she refused to give them to him when he asked for a divorce and the rubies back.

  Was that how she’d gotten the woman out of her home? If so, it wasn’t my business. If not…

  I’d ask Allison.

  The community’s many amenities—the pool, the exercise room, the banquet room with its adjacent gourmet kitchen, card room, billiard room, and theater for viewing movies, as well as membership to its private golf course—didn’t seem to make much of an impression.

  He leaned down and whispered, “What I see are these community fees going sky high!”

  We drove to the sprawling, three-story building on Aspen Way. The lobby was spacious, with a small room off it for mail delivery.

  Mark shook his head and murmured, “Not safe. It’s a good thing I pay all my bills online.” He didn’t mention personal mail, and I observed him thoughtfully.

  “What about Christmas cards? Birthday cards?”

  “Oh, well, yeah, but…Sh-shoot.” He scowled. “Something else to worry about.”

  Ms. Dashwood tried to steer us toward the elevators, but Mark, who I’d learned had an almost pathological distrust of elevators—and who was still annoyed by the fact that he’d have to retrieve his mail—stalked toward the stairwell. I followed him, and he muttered, “You get out of breath, and I’m tossing you over my shoulder and carrying you the rest of the way!” And he kept glancing at me from the corner of his eye as we made the climb to the top floor.