“You look great,” Holly affirmed, tying her bonnet ribbon in a bow under her chin. “That hairdo is a smash if I do say so myself. If I fail the bar exam, I can always become a beautician.”
Angela glanced at the clock. “I’d better get out there. I’m sure there are a million things Josie wants me to do.”
Holly snatched up the small knit drawstring purse that completed her costume. “I’ll come and help. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go.”
Devlin was waiting for them in the living room. He had changed to his slate gray corduroy slacks, and they were complemented by a pearl gray knit sweater he had magically produced. His black hair, neatly combed, gleamed with a rich luster under the soft lighting. His hooded eyes moved over Angela slowly and then returned to her face. He didn’t even glance at Holly.
But Holly was aware of his presence. “Just look at him,” she said softly to Angela. “How can you bear to have him around all the damn time, living here with you? I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him.”
“I’ve been known to have that problem,” Angela responded with a note of irony.
Devlin moved forward, his eyes locked with Angela’s. Holly took her cue to exit.
“I’ll go find Josie,” she said hastily, and fled.
Devlin stopped and confronted Angela, his hands in his pockets.
“Who are you?” he said.
“Cassandra,” she replied.
He nodded. “And Cronin?”
“The Greek god Apollo.”
“Her lover,” Devlin answered, sneering. “Typecasting?”
Angela’s temper flared. “You know something?” she said in clipped tones. “I don’t understand you. What is this resentment of Philip? You act as if he were poaching on your territory.” She dropped her eyes. “It’s not as though you didn’t have your chance.”
Devlin’s expression hardened but he said nothing.
Angela knew that look. “Oh. I see. No talk, no talk. You really should have a sign printed and hang it around your neck. Then you’d never have to communicate with anybody.”
Devlin walked to the bar next to the fireplace and poured himself a stiff scotch, neat. Angela watched as he bolted it.
“That’s it,” she said nastily. “Get drunk.”
Devlin slammed the glass down so hard she jumped. He surveyed Angela with cold and distant eyes.
“For someone who looks like the dancer on top of a music box,” he said slowly, “you can have a pretty mean mouth at times.” He walked past her into the hall and down to his room.
Angela drifted unsteadily into the dining room and pulled the French doors closed behind her. She put one hand out to the cherry banquette, leaning on it heavily, and turned her head from the sight of the decoratively arranged mounds of food displayed everywhere on the Queen Anne table. The Waterford chandelier overhead washed her pale face with slanting rays of crystalline light. She covered her mouth with her free hand and bowed her head.
Holly found her in the same position a few minutes later.
“Angela, what are you doing hiding in here?” Holly demanded. “The guests will be arriving any minute.” She moved and took a closer look at Angela’s face. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I just had another scene with Brett.” Angela blinked her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, and tilted her head back to keep them from running and streaking her mascara. “We’re at each other’s throats and I can’t take it anymore. I’m calling Harold Simmons tomorrow and asking him to replace Devlin with someone else.”
Holly’s small face showed concern. “Oh, Angela, I’m sorry.”
Angela gestured vaguely. “He won’t let his guard down for one minute, and I’m so frustrated that I’m sniping at him constantly. It’s awful, Holly, and I have to stop it.”
“But the way you feel about him . . .” Holly began.
Angela laughed ruefully, sniffing. “The way I feel about him is not going to change whether he’s here or not. But it has finally dawned on me that you can’t make a man love you just because you want him to love you. I’ve tried everything. I’ve humiliated myself so badly and so often, it’s embarrassing for me to think about it. Nothing has worked, and the situation has degenerated to the point where we can’t stand to be in the same room with each other. He has to go. I can’t think what else to do.”
Holly reached out and gripped Angela’s shoulder with a steadying hand. “All right, all right, take it easy. You have to pull yourself together now. You’ll have a house full of people here in a half hour. You can deal with this later, once the party is over and everyone’s gone.”
Angela nodded, wiping under her eyes carefully with a forefinger to check for smudged eye makeup. Her finger came away clean.
She straightened. “Do I look all right?” she asked.
“You look fine,” Holly said firmly. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
The doorbell rang as they left the dining room and Angela got ready to charm her guests.
* * * *
Philip was the first on the scene, looking like a museum statue in his white knee length tunic with a wreath of leaves in his hair. After him came the rest, all attired in clever and expensive costumes, each more imaginative than the last. Philip had invited everyone whose attention he wanted to engage, and the brownstone was soon filled with politicians and elected officials, businessmen and local dignitaries. They milled about the house, drinks in hand, sampling tidbits from the trays Josie and Angela offered, admiring the furniture and artwork displayed for their benefit. Philip basked in the attention, the gracious host, filling glasses and laughing heartily at jokes.
Angela found that once things got under way she could distract herself with her hostessing duties and not think about Devlin. She chatted easily with those people she knew, checking frequently on the supply of food and liquor as she and Holly made sure everyone got what they wanted. A couple of hours had passed before she looked up to see Devlin talking with Congressman Hathaway’s date, a Southern belle with a pronounced Georgia drawl. She was dressed, not surprisingly, as Scarlett O’Hara, Margaret Mitchell’s heroine. She hung on Devlin’s arm as he spoke, laughing into his face and batting her eyelashes at him. What is he saying? Angela thought angrily. I haven’t gotten that much conversation out of him in a week.
Holly joined her, catching the direction of her glance.
“I see our Georgia peach has snared her quarry,” Holly said sarcastically.
Angela looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Holly answered, “that she took one look at Devlin and confided to me that she prefers the ‘dark, broodin’ type’ because they are so ‘interestin’. That is a direct quote.”
“What about Jerry Hathaway?” Angela asked, referring to Scarlett’s date, who appeared to be a rather portly, balding version of Rhett Butler.
“I think Scarlett has found more attractive game,” Holly responded, biting into a tiny square of spinach quiche. “And who can blame her? Given the choice, which one would you pick?” She raised her eyebrows at the overage Rhett, who was putting away hors d’oeuvres with alarming speed.
“When did he show up, anyway?” Angela asked, nodding in Devlin’s direction. “I thought he had decided to give this little soiree a miss.”
“He surfaced while you were in the kitchen with Josie. Katie Scarlett’s been wrapped around him like a boa constrictor ever since.”
“Look at him grinning at her,” Angela said between gritted teeth.
“He does have an adorable smile,” Holly offered.
“That’s the first I’ve seen of it in a long while,” Angela replied grimly.
“Oh-oh, he’s spotted you,” Holly said quickly. “Here he comes. Keep your cool.” Holly ambled off in the other direction.
Angela watched Devlin excuse himself from the brunette and walk over to her side. He took a slice of brie from the tray she was holding and popped it into his mouth.
&n
bsp; “Nice party,” he said. “Everybody here is embalmed.”
Angela choked on her sip of ginger ale. In the tension of the past weeks she had almost forgotten his sense of humor, which, like fine wine, was rare and very dry. She swallowed her laughter and replied, “Most of the people Philip deals with are considerably older than we are.”
“I’ll say,” he responded looking around at the group as if taking inventory of a retirement home.
“Of course,” Angela added, “there are a few exceptions. Your friend, for example.”
Devlin let that pass. “Speaking of friends,” Devlin said, “where are yours?”
“Holly’s here,” Angela replied uncomfortably.
“She’s the only one, and she’s here to help,” Devlin stated. “Can’t you invite your own friends to a party at your house?”
“This party is for Philip. He made up the guest list.”
“Obviously. They’re all as dull as he is.”
“Oh, really? Scarlett looks like she would liven up any group. Where did she go? Back to Tara, I hope?”
“She went to powder her nose.”
“And here she is, fresh from the old plantation,” Angela observed, as the subject of their conversation threaded her way back toward Devlin. Angela simpered and fluttered an imaginary fan at Devlin.
“Y’all have yourself a rip-roarin’ time, y’heah?” she drawled in an exaggerated Southern accent, then curtsied dramatically. She didn’t see Devlin’s delighted grin as she walked away.
Josie intercepted her at the door of the kitchen. “How’s the food holding out?” Josie asked.
“It seems to be okay. I’m going to send Philip downstairs for more champagne, though. These people drink like Prohibition was about to be reinstated tomorrow.”
Her statement was punctuated by the sound of Philip’s raucous laughter from the next room.
“He sure is having a fine time,” Josie said tightly.
Angela sighed. “Well, I’m glad he’s happy with the way it turned out. It’s more than I can say.”
“Some problem with the party?” Josie asked innocently. She knew what the problem was.
“No, no, everybody showed and everybody’s getting drunk. That seems to be the standard for success with Philip’s crowd.”
“Then what?”
Angela shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. It seems like a lot of fuss for a bunch of people I have nothing in common with, I guess.”
“Marry Philip and you can look forward to a lifetime of the same,” Josie said darkly.
“You do know how to cheer me up,” Angela replied, and shoved her empty tray onto the counter. She threw Josie a dirty look and left.
Josie smiled to herself and began to hum under her breath.
* * * *
Holly and Angela took refuge in the pantry when the dancing began. Philip had hired a three piece band, and the music drifted in through the open door as Holly removed her shoes and flexed her toes.
“That’s better,” she said. “I’m relieved to see that I still have some feeling in my feet.”
“Thanks so much for helping me,” Angela said. “Philip wanted me to hire some extra people to come in, but I wasn’t comfortable bringing strangers into the house under the current circumstances.”
Holly waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Don’t give it a thought. I would have been home by myself with the Uniform Commercial Code, and this beats the UCC any day.” Holly glanced up at Angela, and then looked away. “Are you sure that everybody here is safe?”
Angela shrugged. “Philip knows all of them, including the musicians. I doubt if one of his old pals is going to turn out to be an assassin.”
“Devlin must not have been happy about this party, nevertheless.”
“Devlin isn’t happy about anything these days.”
“I saw you talking to him after I left. There were no apparent fireworks.”
Angela smiled a little, fingering the fringe on the end of her belt.
“What?” Holly said, noticing her expression.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just that I’ve been so upset with him lately that I’d forgotten I like him.”
Holly raised her brows. “I think I’d use a stronger word than like for the way you feel,” she said dryly.
“You don’t understand what I mean,” Angela replied impatiently. “I know that he seems quiet and reserved, but he’s actually quite funny, and very nice in a thoughtful, behind-the-scenes sort of way.”
Holly sighed. “Oh, Angela.”
Angela put her head back against the wall behind her chair and closed her eyes. “I know, I know. What am I going to do? Some nut is after me, my uncle shows no sign of coming back from wherever he is, and I’m about to fire the man I love because we’re driving each other crazy.” She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “How did I get into such a fix?”
“I don’t know. Three months ago your biggest problem was making up an exam your tutorial students could pass.”
Angela smiled ruefully as the band shifted into another number. She stood wearily.
“I’d better get back out there. Philip will be sending a search party.”
“Do you mind if I sit in here with the dirty dishes for a while?” Holly asked, putting her feet up on the chair next to her.
“Feel free. Everything’s been served, it’s just a matter of keeping the liquid refreshment flowing now. See you later.”
Holly nodded as Angela went out to rejoin the revelers.
The first thing she saw was Devlin dancing with the Flower of the South. This made her want to turn around and go back to the clutter of the pantry, but she forced herself to keep walking.
Philip saw her and came over to put his arm around her and kiss her cheek. She stiffened at his side.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“Well, it’s a great party. I couldn’t have asked for more. You did a wonderful job.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased,” Angela said neutrally.
Scarlett giggled fetchingly, causing heads to turn in her direction. Philip frowned.
“Will you look at that guy?” Philip said disgustedly. “I’ll never understand what women see in a character like that.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Angela replied quietly.
Philip glanced at her. “Well, I mean, really. He’s supposed to be guarding you and he’s spent the whole evening chasing Jerry Hathaway’s date.”
“Do we have to talk about him?” Angela said.
“No, of course not. Can I get you anything from the bar? A drink would help you relax.”
“No, thanks. Everybody else is relaxed enough not to notice that I’m not relaxed.”
Philip held her off to look at her. “Are you sure you’re all right? You sound strange.”
A female voice called Philip’s name behind them.
“Go,” Angela said. “I’m just going to mix a little bit.”
“Okay,” Philip said happily. He trotted off to answer the summons.
Angela turned to face Devlin, who was dancing with his companion in his arms. Angela spun on her heel and headed for the kitchen.
She was standing at the sink, letting the water run cold before she filled a glass, when Devlin’s shadow blocked the light from the hall.
“I missed you,” he said.
“Didn’t look like it,” Angela answered crisply.
“I’d like a dance.”
“Go dance with Miss Georgia.”
“I have. Now I want to dance with you.”
Angela whirled to face him. “Forget it.”
He caught her arm as she pushed past him. “Wait a minute,” he began.
“No, you wait a minute. You have been neglecting your duties and I don’t like it. What is my uncle paying you for anyway? I could have been shot five times while you were waltzing around with that . . . that . . . praline!”
Devlin’s eyes widened. “Pralin
e! What are you talking about? You’ve been treating me like I had the plague all day, and now you read me the riot act because I dance with one of your guests! You told me not to stand around and stare at everybody, you told me to mingle and act like one of the crowd. You did. Or was that someone else who gave me that prissy little lecture this afternoon?”
Angela advanced on him, her expression mutinous. “Don’t throw my words back in my face. You know how I hate that!”
They were glaring at each other when Holly appeared on the threshold. She took one look and spun around in the other direction.
“Holly, get back here!” Angela barked.
Holly stopped on a dime and marched back into the kitchen.
“Yes?” she said meekly, eyeing Angela warily.
“Mr. Devlin here wants a dance partner. Why don’t you oblige him?” Angela lifted her skirt with one hand and swept regally from the room.
Devlin pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, blinking his eyes. After a moment he said to Holly in a controlled voice, “Can you tell me what’s wrong with her?”
Holly examined him with narrowed eyes.
“Don’t you know?” she asked pointedly, and followed her friend out of the kitchen.
Devlin sat at the table and lit a cigarette.
All these women were driving him insane.
* * * *
The last guest didn’t leave until one-thirty in the morning. Angela was barefoot and beltless by then, emptying ashtrays with mechanical precision. Josie was collecting glasses and Holly was running the vacuum cleaner while Philip congratulated himself on the social success of the season. He had changed back to street clothes and was savoring a final and unnecessary sherry. He was already feeling no pain.
Devlin had vanished.
“I have never seen so many cigarette butts,” Angela said wearily, dumping another load into the paper bag on the floor. “It’s a wonder we didn’t go up in flames.”
Philip chuckled. “You can’t tell people not to smoke at parties, darling,” he said, seating himself in the living room.
Men of Intrgue A Trilogy Page 59