"What exactly are you saying, Savannah?" Emily repeated.
Savannah laughed her low, husky laugh. "You know exactly what I'm saying, Em. Have a love affair with the guy. Seduce him! You might even win a gold ring."
"Seduce my editor? I wouldn't know where to begin, Sava."
Savannah laughed harder. "Sure you do," she said.
"It's inappropriate!" Emily protested.
"Oh, pooh! If you do it's going to make it all the more fun, especially when you run into J.P. You'll have that glow that a well-fucked woman gets, and she'll know Mick is going at you like a mastiff in heat. But you aren't a girl to kiss and tell. And J.P. won't ask, but it'll kill her anyway." Savannah choked on her laughter. "Revenge is so sweet."
"You are really quite dreadful," Emily told her, but she was smiling.
"He's a lovely man, darling. Enjoy yourself. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever known a time when you did enjoy yourself with a man. Any man. Either you are the most discreet woman in the world, or…" And then Savannah gasped.
"I have to go, Sava," Emily said quickly. She did not want to get into a discussion about her virginity with Savannah Banning, whose novels, it was rumored, were printed on fireproof paper. "Say hi to Sir Reginald for me. Toodles!" And she rang off.
Emily turned restlessly in her bed, and asked herself for the third time just how she, inexperienced as she was, was going to seduce a sophisticated and urbane man like Michael Devlin. And he would be coming to Egret Pointe, to her house, for the weekend in just a few days. And suddenly she heard her grandmother O'Malley's voice as plain as day, saying, "The way to a good man's heart is through his stomach, Emily." She almost laughed aloud, remembering how he had gobbled down those two beef-and-cheddar wraps at Felicity's. The man had a good appetite on him.
"I'll bet no woman ever cooked for you, Mick Devlin," Emily said aloud.
Outside her window a cardinal started calling, and the sparrows in the pine tree were chattering noisily. The clock on her fireplace mantel struck five a.m. She was not going to go back to sleep. Emily sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She had menus to plan for the weekend. And shopping to do. And she would ask Rina and Dr. Sam to dinner Friday night to help her get over any shyness with Devlin. She had a man coming for the weekend whom she had only met once. And she was going to seduce him. Well, she was going to try. With his reputation it would probably be easy. A prime rib, a good red wine. Chocolate mousse or trifle. He would be putty in her hands. If there was one thing Emily Shanski could do as well as write, it was cook.
***
Michael Devlin swung off the parkway onto the Egret Pointe exit. Turn right at the bottom of the ramp, Emily had told him. He did. When he'd heard her voice on the phone, his cock had tingled, and he was again surprised by the effect this woman was having on him. He was forty years of age come August, not some kid in heat for the first time. Two miles down County Road 3 he saw the sign: welcome to egret point, founded 1723. He was enchanted, for it had the air of a New England village, yet it wasn't New England. He was just seventy-five miles from the city.
The main street was lined in ancient maples just now greening up. There was a village green with a gazebo; a duck pond, on the far side of which were pink Kwanzan cherry trees in full bloom. The shops were deliberately small, and charming. Some had offices above them, for he saw a sign that read, johnson and pietro d'angelo, attorneys-at-law. And the streetlights were real antique gas lamps, not those faux modern ones you saw in so many places now. Devlin almost missed his turn onto Colonial Avenue at the far end of the village. He paid closer attention to his driving so that he was prepared for the turn onto Founders Way.
"It has just five houses on it," Emily had told him. "The first two are genuine Colonials. The next two are Empire, but one is modern. I'm the big Empire at the bottom of the street. It's not really a cul-de-sac, but similar to one. You can park your car at the very end of the driveway. I'll be watching for you."
He made the turn and drove to the end of the little street, pulling all the way up into her driveway, and catching his breath as she came out from the house to greet him. Damn, she was lovely! She was wearing khaki slacks that hugged a very round little butt, and a cream-colored silk shirt. She wore no lipstick, and it tickled him. Emily Shanski was obviously not a girl who doted on her appearance. It told him she had enough confidence in herself not to worry about such things. All the women he knew did.
"You drive a Healy!" were the first words out of her mouth, and she hurried by him to admire his car. "It's a 'sixty?" Emily ran her hand over the cream-colored fender.
'"Sixty-one," he said. "I brought it with me from Ireland to New York to England, and back to New York again. They are very rare now, I'm told."
"I have a 'sixty-three in the garage," she told him. "I just found it about five years ago, and had it restored. Mine is Racing Green, but I've got the roll-up windows."
"A distinct advantage when it's about to rain," he admitted.
"Oh, I'm being so rude," she exclaimed, blushing. "Welcome to Egret Pointe, Mr. Devlin. Grab your bag, and I'll show you to your room. I hope you don't mind coming in the kitchen door, but it seems silly to drag you around to the front at this point."
"Mick," he said. "My friends call me Mick. And I prefer the kitchen door. Back in Ireland when I grew up only the priest came in the front door." He pulled the elegant bag from the back of the car and followed her up two small steps into the house. His nose twitched. "Is that roast beef I smell cooking?" he wanted to know.
"I took the chance you didn't keep a meatless Friday," Emily admitted. "But if you do, I have some salmon in the freezer I can cook."
The look on his face was beatific. "No, I do not keep a meatless Friday, Emily, and rare beef is my favorite meal. There would not, by chance, be some potatoes roasting around that meat, would there?" The hopeful look on his face made him appear boyish.
"Now, sir, what kind of an Irish girl would I be if I didn't have the potatoes roasting about the beef?" she teased him.
"It's O'Shanski then, is it?" Devlin teased back.
Emily laughed. "My mother was an O'Malley," she explained, "and this was my Grandma O'Malley's house once upon a time. Both she and Granny Katya taught me to cook. I do a mean kielbasa and pierogies too."
"I think you may be the perfect woman, Emily," he flattered her. "You write wonderful novels, and cook as well." And I'll bet you fuck like a dream, too, he thought to himself, his eyes briefly sliding over the twin mounds beneath the silk blouse. He had never been more tempted in his life, and he was going to have a difficult time keeping his hands off of her, which surprised him. He had always managed a strong reserve where women were concerned. Enjoy what they offer, but don't get emotionally involved was his longtime motto.
"Reserve your judgment until you've tasted my dinner," Emily advised him. "Come on. I promised to show you to your room." She hurried from the kitchen, and he fell into step behind her.
The home had a gracious center hallway with a graceful staircase. As they reached it the doorbell chimed, and then the door opened to admit an older couple.
"Rina, Dr. Sam," Emily greeted them, turning. Then, looking back at Michael Devlin, she said, "Upstairs to the left, second door. And come back down to meet my friends." She gave him a smile before she moved away to welcome her other guests.
He mounted the staircase, and as he went he heard the newly arrived woman say, "My God, Emily, he's even more gorgeous close up! Are you sure you want us to stay for dinner? If I were in your shoes I'd want him all to myself." Devlin grinned to himself.
"Rina, he'll hear you," Emily said, and felt her cheeks growing warm.
Dr. Sam Seligmann chuckled. "I'm not going anywhere, Rina. I smell roast beef."
"Like I never cook?" Rina Seligmann said as they entered the gracious parlor of the house. She plunked herself into a comfortable club chair.
"You cook fine, but not like our Emily," Dr. Sam answere
d his spouse. "Shall I make everyone a drink?"
"For you and Rina, and Mick when he comes back down," Emily said. "We're having wine with dinner, and you know me-two glasses of anything is my limit."
Dr. Sam stirred up a pitcher of martinis, and had just poured one for his wife and for himself when Michael Devlin entered the room. Catching his eye, Dr. Sam held up the pitcher and tilted his head to one side quizzically.
"Martinis?" Devlin asked.
"Yep," Dr. Sam said.
"We're having wine with dinner," Emily put in quickly.
"Then I shall satisfy myself with a sherry, if you have it," Devlin replied.
"One sherry coming up," Dr. Sam answered, putting the martini pitcher down. "I'm Sam Seligmann, town doctor. My wife, Rina."
"You were the driver for Emily the other day in the city, weren't you?" Devlin asked, now remembering the brief glimpse he had had of Rina Seligmann. "You're Aaron Fischer's sister. Am I right?"
"His little sister," Rina responded with a grin. "He was almost eight when I came into the world. The prince of the family until my arrival." She chuckled.
"And he's terrified of her," Emily said, laughing.
"As well it should be," Rina Seligmann answered smugly.
Devlin laughed too. "I'm an only child," he told them. "I envy you a sibling."
The small talk continued back and forth, with Emily running in and out of the kitchen overseeing her meal. Finally she announced it was ready, and they all trooped to the table. Taking her place at the head of the table, she asked Devlin to sit at the other end, and the Seligmanns took their place on either side, as was their custom.
"Will you carve the roast beast?" she asked him, and he saw she had placed the platter with the meat before him. Before it was a carving knife and fork with bone handles. They were obviously very old.
The meat had been done perfectly. As he carved, he saw the medium-rare pieces fall from his knife from the outside, and the very rare bit of the meat was farther inside. He asked for preferences, and placed the appropriate slices upon the plates. The platter was then taken from him by Emily to be set upon the sideboard. A bowl of exquisitely roasted potatoes was passed. Then a smaller platter of fresh asparagus. There were two gravy boats: one with the au jus, and the other with a flawless Hollandaise sauce for the vegetable. There were dainty hot rolls, a silver dish of sweet butter, and tomato aspic salad on separate plates to each diner's left.
As they ate he learned that Dr. Sam's family had been early settlers of Egret Pointe. He was surprised until Dr. Sam explained that his ancestors had come to the Americas in 1709. It wasn't, Dr. Sam said, a well-known fact of American history, but there had been a number of Jewish families who had emigrated then. "We fought in the Revolution," he said proudly. "On the winning side, of course."
"And then he went and married a girl from the Upper West Side whose family was chased out of Russia by a troop of Cossacks," Rina said.
"But that's what makes our country so great," Emily spoke up. "We're such a wonderful mixture of peoples and cultures." She was glad she had asked the Seligmanns to help her defuse what might have been an awkward evening.
When they had finished almost everything Emily had prepared, she and Rina cleared the table for the dessert while the two men sat talking.
"God, he has such charm," Rina said, scraping the plates for the dishwasher. "He looks like a Celtic prince, and that delicious hint of Ireland in his voice." She sighed.
"He's very nice," Emily murmured.
"Huh?" Rina replied, looking closely at her younger companion. "Oh, my! You're attracted to him, aren't you, Emily Shanski? Well, why not, says I?"
"I don't even know him," Emily protested. "We just met on Tuesday. We've spoken once on the phone, and today is Friday."
"You've got an itch for him," Rina accused her with a grin. "I've known you most of your life, Em, and I've never known you to be attracted to any man. There have been times I've wondered if you weren't gay, like Aaron."
"I haven't got an itch, Rina, and I'm not a lesbian," Emily responded. "I just haven't had time for men, and I sure as hell didn't want to be like Katy and Joe. Have you any idea how hard it was for me in high school, with most of the same teachers they had had always watching, always waiting for me to fall from grace?"
"They never knew your mother had fallen from grace, as you so dramatically put it, until she was graduated, and at Wellesley," Rina said. "Thanks to your grandmothers your impending arrival was quite the surprise to everyone in Egret Pointe."
"That's what made it so hard for me," Emily replied. "Katy fooled them. Was I fooling them? Why do you think I worked so hard to get out of here, and into college?"
"Water under the bridge," Rina said. "You're a best-selling author now with a hot new editor. He isn't married. You're both fancy-free. Hell, if I were you I'd lay him!"
"Why does everyone keep saying that to me?" Emily wanted to know.
"Who else said it?" Rina asked.
"Savannah. I talked to her the other day. He was her editor in London, and I wanted to know more about him," Emily answered.
"And?" Rina's look of curiosity was so blatant that Emily had to laugh.
"To quote Savannah, the women flock to him like flies to jam, but he likes to pick his own friends," Emily said. "I doubt I'm his type."
"I think you're just his type. He's Irish, for heaven's sake. They like their women intelligent, good cooks, and just a little helpless at the right moments. You can play helpless, can't you, sweetie? Where's the dessert?"
"Fridge," Emily said. "I am not helpless, Rina."
Rina Seligmann opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a large glass bowl. "Don't tell me you haven't thought of having him between your legs, because I won't believe you. A woman would have to be made of stone to look at that man and not want him. What is this?" She looked suspiciously at the bowl she was holding.
"Chocolate trifle," Emily answered. "I couldn't make up my mind between mousse and trifle. So I made chocolate lady fingers, and mousse for filling with the sliced strawberries."
Rina began to laugh. "Yep, you're hot for him."
"How can you say that?" Emily wanted to know. It was embarrassing to be so damned transparent. Did Michael Devlin see what Rina saw?
"The double chocolate is a dead giveaway," Rina replied.
Emily blushed furiously. "Do you think he'll notice?" she asked nervously.
"Nah," Rina reassured her. "But you do know he likes you, don't you?"
"Rina, we've just met," Emily said exasperated.
"Look, sweetie, if there is one thing I understand, it's men. I know, I know. I've been married to Sam since I turned twenty, but I still know human nature. It isn't how long you've known someone. If there's chemistry it's there from the start. And there is definitely chemistry between you two. Enjoy it! You've worked hard all your life trying to make up for what you consider Katy and Joe's mistake. You weren't a mistake, Emily. Oh, I know. Your parents weren't lovers, and their coming together was a onetime thing. But they were best friends from the time they were in diapers. You were created from that loving friendship. You don't have to be a saint to make up for them. They created you, had you, and moved on with their lives. Time for you to move on, sweetie. Is there any whipped cream to go with this devilish creation?"
Emily didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Rina Seligmann," she said. "Since the grans died, you have been my rock."
"Of course I have," Rina replied calmly, brushing away the single tear that had slipped down Emily's cheek. "You could be my daughter, sweetie. And I could never have enough daughters. Sam will tell you that. 'A son's a son till he takes a wife. But a daughter's a daughter all of her life.' My mother always said that, but if truth be known my brother was a better daughter to our mother than I ever was." She chuckled.
"I'll make the whipped cream," Emily said. "It won't take long. Check to see if the men want coffee or tea. And
would you take that bottle of ice wine in? The glasses are here on the tray." She pulled out the dark, slender bottle of the sweet dessert wine and handed it to Rina. Then she set about whipping the heavy cream, transferring the finished product into a cut-glass bowl with a scalloped silver spoon to serve it.
They had all decided upon tea, and Rina brewed a large pot of American black-leaf tea from the only tea plantation in the United States that was located outside of Charleston, South Carolina. Emily's friend Savannah Banning had introduced them to it. Emily spooned out the dark-chocolate trifle, adding a lavish dollop of the freshly whipped cream to each serving, and passing the plates around. There was virtual silence as the diners devoured it. Rina was in charge of the teapot and the ice wine.
Finally Michael Devlin pushed back his chair and sighed deeply. "I do not know when I last ate such a grand meal," he said, his green eyes on Emily.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," she said almost shyly.
Rina saw Devlin's eyes soften. Hoo , boy, she thought. He wants her, all right. I wonder how long it will take for them both to realize it. She looked at her husband and saw that Sam was finally noticing the attraction between Emily and Michael Devlin too. Rina's eyes met her husband's in silent understanding, and Dr. Sam stood up.
"I hate to eat and run," he said, "but I've got rounds at the hospital early. Rina, come! Emily, as always, a wonderful dinner. Thank you, darling, for asking us. Mick, delighted to meet a fellow rare-roast-beef lover. I hope we'll see you again."
"I hope so too, Dr. Sam," Devlin replied.
"I'll see you to the door," Emily said, and she did, waving her two friends off as their car pulled away from in front of her house.
"Where do they live?" Devlin asked. He was standing next to her, she realized.
"A subdivision nearby. It's called Ansley at Egret Pointe," Emily said. "It's the only one in town, and has been there for years."
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