by Berg, Patti
“May I introduce you to Gerald Harcourt,” Celeste said, glaring at Max, smiling at Gerald.
“I believe we’ve already met,” Gerald said, but still he held out his hand to Max, and Lauren couldn’t miss the animosity in their shake, not when both men’s knuckles turned white. Obviously Max’s jealousy hadn’t completely subsided, and it appeared Gerald was still under the impression that she was interested.
“I thought you were going back to London,” Lauren said to her mother.
“Andrew had some pressing business to take care of—naturally. I thought about staying in Rio for a few more days, but Gerald called and suggested we—the three of us,” she said pointedly, treating Max as if he weren’t in the room, “go sailing.”
Celeste linked her arm through Gerald’s. “Gerald sailed in the America’s Cup last year.” She turned her artificial smile on Max. “Do you sail, Mr. Wilde?”
“I ride motorcycles.”
“Oh, yes, how could I forget?”
“He restores motorcycles, too,” Lauren said. “As well as classic cars.”
“I have a penchant for the classics,” Gerald added, leading Celeste to the living room, not taking any notice if Lauren and Max had followed. Of course, they had, because Max seemed determined to keep an eye on the man he despised.
“My collection includes Pierce-Arrow, Isotta-Fraschini, Duesenberg,” Gerald continued. “In fact, I’ve recently purchased a ’32 Walker-LeGrande SJ, a magnificent vehicle.” He stood behind the bar and aimed his superior gaze at Max. “What about you?”
“A ’68 Corvette convertible,” Max said, leaning casually against the grand piano.
“I see.”
Gerald didn’t see a thing, Lauren thought. He was stuffy, arrogant, and sure that anyone and everyone would fall all over him and his wealth. That wasn’t quite the case where she was concerned.
“Gerald and I were thinking of going to Bice for dinner,” her mother said. “Perhaps you’d like to join us.”
“Max and I are having dinner here,” Lauren stated, trying hard to stay composed, to keep a smile on her face. “Mrs. Fisk is back from Tahiti and she’s preparing something new.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wilde,” Celeste said, “I thought you were here on business. Picking up a check or something you might have left behind when you catered Betsy Endicott’s wedding.”
“I’m here strictly for Lauren,” he stated, sliding his arm possessively around her waist, his fingers clutching her side as he tugged her against him.
“How lovely.” Celeste turned to Gerald. “You know, darling, I’ve been traveling so much lately, it might be nice to have dinner at home tonight. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
Gerald had already made himself at home and was pouring Chivas Regal into a glass. “Not at all.”
“I’m afraid—” Lauren’s protest was cut off by Max’s fingers digging into her side.
“I’m glad you’re going to join us,” Max said, far too cordially. “I’ve been looking forward to getting to know both of you.”
So much for her evening alone with Max!
“If you’ll excuse me a moment,” Lauren said, hoping no one could hear the gnash of her teeth, “I’ll ask Mrs. Fisk and Charles to plan on four for dinner.”
“Thank you, darling.” Celeste turned to Max and, assuming the job of hostess, said, “Gerald makes a wonderful martini. Would you care for one?”
“I prefer beer.”
“Yes, of course. I should have known.”
Lauren walked out on the conversation, the click of her heels on the marble floor drowning out the forced congeniality going on behind her. Shoving through the kitchen doors, she collapsed in one of the chairs. “This evening isn’t going to go too well,” she said to Charles and Mrs. Fisk.
“Why is that?” Charles asked, casually wiping a crystal goblet with a white linen towel.
“My mother has returned, along with Gerald Harcourt.”
“Oh, dear.”
Lauren couldn’t help but laugh. “I think you’ve been around me far too much, Charles. You’re beginning to sound like me.”
“I could never be around you too much, Miss Remington.” He set the glass on the counter and took another from Mrs. Fisk, who was swirling them in soapy water. “Is there something I could do to alleviate this situation?”
“Short of hog-tying Gerald and my mother and throwing them in the wine cellar, I can’t think of a thing.”
“I believe I might be able to find some rope in the garage.”
Lauren grinned. “You really would do that for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Quite possibly.”
“And I’d help,” Mrs. Fisk added. “How dare they interrupt a romantic evening, not to mention make me have to prepare additional food!”
“In all fairness, they didn’t know they were interrupting anything.”
“If you ask me,” Mrs. Fisk went on, “you’re much too forgiving with Lady Ashford. I know she’s your mother and all, but really, Miss Remington, it’s high time you stood up to her.”
“I quite agree,” Charles stated. “There was a time when she was a lovely young woman, not unlike yourself, I daresay. She was in love with your father but she let convention, social status, and an imperialistic mother come between them. When that happened, the part of her that I loved so well disappeared.” Charles put a hand on Lauren’s shoulder. “I pray the same thing does not happen to you.”
Lauren rested her hand over Charles’s fingers. “It seems my social status has taken quite a beating lately. As for convention, does this dress look like something my Palm Beach sisters would wear?”
“Heavens, no, and more’s the pity,” Mrs. Fisk chortled.
Lauren smiled as she stood, thankful to have such generous friends in her employ. “Thanks for bolstering my courage. I believe I’ll head back out and make sure Mother and Gerald haven’t done anything evil to Max.”
“I’m quite certain Mr. Wilde can take care of himself,” Charles said. “Quite certain, indeed.”
When Lauren walked back into the living room, it didn’t take but a moment to realize that Charles was, as always, correct.
Max leaned against the piano, relaxed in spite of the venom that was spit at him with every word coming from Lady Ashford’s mouth. The woman disliked him, plain and simple, and he was doing his best to bite his tongue.
As for Gerald Harcourt, the guy was a pompous ass, smiling, joking, and laughing at everything that was said. At least Lauren’s mother was open and honest with her hatred—and she’d always admired honesty.
oOo
Max took a long, cold swallow of Budweiser from the bottle Gerald had found in the refrigerator behind the bar, and watched Lauren return from the kitchen. She was stunning in the scarlet dress that showed off an awful lot of her soft, warm skin. He’d wanted to see even more tonight, but it looked like Gerald Harcourt had come between him and his plans—once again.
“So, Gerald,” Max said, latching on to Lauren and pulling her against his side. “What do you do for a living?”
“Nothing quite as intriguing as being a chef, I’m sure. I spend my days dabbling in investments, buying property, traveling.”
“He’s just purchased an island in Fiji,” Celeste added. “Have you been to Fiji, Mr. Wilde?”
Max took another drink of beer. “I went to Catalina Island once. I was working as a stuntman in an action-adventure film.”
“Is that how you broke your nose?” Lauren asked, drawing a slender finger over the bridge, which raised a cold look of disdain from Celeste.
“I broke it the first time when I was eight. A car accident,” he said, remembering the long-forgotten incident where his drunken father had run their old Impala into a parked car. Zack was in the front passenger seat, buckled in. Max and Charlotte had flown forward on impact and hit the windshield. He frowned, remembering that Charlotte’s head was cut, that she probably had a scar. He tucked the thought away and too
k a swallow of beer.
“The second time I broke it was in Catalina.”
“Please tell us more, Mr. Wilde,” Celeste suggested. Was she interested? Max wondered, or just being polite?
“I was in a chase scene. Two boats racing across the water. The one I was in was rigged to blow up after I jumped overboard, but the timing was off. I ended up with a broken leg, a busted arm, a fractured nose, and a concussion that put me in the hospital for nearly two weeks.” Max looked directly at Gerald. “That doesn’t happen in Fiji, does it?”
“I live a quiet life on the island.”
“My first husband, Lauren’s father, was a rodeo star,” Celeste said, turning her attention— again—to Max, which surprised the hell out of him. “Reece, that was my husband, was hurt quite often, too. I remember a time—”
“Why did you give up being a stuntman?” Gerald asked, interrupting Celeste. Max couldn’t miss the annoyance in her eyes.
“My foster father was ill, he needed someone to run his catering business, and I wasn’t making any money in Hollywood.” Max turned to Celeste. “Stunt work’s a lot like rodeoing—some make good money at it, some don’t.”
“Do you make much money now?” Celeste asked. Max saw a small touch of warmth in her eyes, and thought they might be able to like each other—someday.
“I’m comfortable,” he answered, figuring she didn’t want too many details.
“And you have two children?”
Max nodded. “Jamie and Ryan.”
“Foster children, I believe Lauren said.” Celeste smiled, and took a dainty sip of the martini Gerald had made for her. “And they work for you, too, I understand. Is that why you brought them into your home?”
So much for the two of them getting along, Max decided.
“That was a one-time thing,” Lauren said, coming to his rescue. Max might have tossed back some cynical comment, but he heard the butler clearing his throat.
“Dinner is served.”
“Thank you, Charles,” Celeste said, tucking her arm through Gerald’s. “We can continue this lovely conversation over wine and one of Mrs. Fisk’s delectable meals.”
Gerald led Celeste toward the dining room, but Max didn’t move from the piano. “What would happen if we didn’t follow them?” Max asked Lauren, pulling her hard against his chest.
“My mother would send out the hounds, and they can be terribly vicious.”
“I’m not afraid of dogs any more than I’m afraid of your mother. If it was someone else who’d interrupted us, I wouldn’t let them stand in our way. But I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“Thank you,” she said, whispering the words against his lips. “I’ll make it up to you.”
He smiled. “I’m counting on it.”
They strolled arm in arm into the dining room. Charles had poured the wine, Mrs. Fisk had set out salads, and it looked like a very happy party was about to take place, but Lauren had her doubts.
Max was annoyed.
Celeste was at her supercilious best.
And Gerald just simpered behind his rich-jerk tan.
Lauren sipped her wine and tried to make small talk, but her mother managed to steer the conversation toward wedding planning, a subject Lauren had wanted to stay away from.
“I had the loveliest lunch with Amanda Carlyle while I was in Rio,” Celeste announced. “She told me that Paige is looking for a wedding consultant, and I suggested you might be able to help her out.”
That comment seemed totally out of character for Celeste, considering how she detested Lauren being in business. Obviously Celeste hadn’t yet discovered that Paige and the rest of Palm Beach weren’t the least bit interested in Lauren’s services. “Thank you, Mother, but Paige is interviewing other planners. She wants someone with more experience.”
“Oh, yes, I know that, darling. I thought you might be able to give her some suggestions on someone else to contact, since I knew you weren’t going to continue as a wedding planner after Betsy’s wedding.”
Lauren shoved her glass of wine to her mouth and took a healthy drink. “Paige wasn’t interested in my suggestions, Mother. But that’s neither here nor there any longer. Planning society weddings has become rather tedious so I thought I’d try my hand at something else. I’m just not sure what.”
Max frowned, studying her eyes, which she hoped didn’t reveal the sadness she felt at giving up the profession she’d thoroughly enjoyed.
Celeste merely smiled her pleasure. “You really don’t have to work, darling. There are other things you can do that are far more important.”
“Like volunteer work,” Lauren said.
“That’s a delightful idea,” Celeste chirped. “I believe there’s a charity auction being held at the club in a few weeks. Perhaps you could donate an item or two of clothing.”
“I was thinking of something a little more hands-on.” She squeezed Max’s leg under the table. “Like working at the Hole in the Wall.”
“And what, pray tell, is that?” Celeste asked.
Lauren smiled at Max, who was leaning back in his chair, apparently enjoying his wine, the conversation, and probably Lauren’s fingers, which were inching up his thigh. “It’s a place where kids—underprivileged or underloved— can go after school. They get help with their homework, play sports, hang out and talk. Max started it several years ago.”
“My word, Max,” Gerald said, “you’re quite the hero, aren’t you? Helping underprivileged kids. Taking in foster children.”
“I don’t consider myself a hero, just a man who likes kids.”
“Do any of these children who hang out at the Hole in the Wall have criminal records?” Gerald asked.
“If a kid comes in looking for help, we help them,” Max stated. “We don’t ask about their background unless they volunteer the information.”
Gerald steepled his index fingers in front of his lips. “So you don’t know if any of them have been caught stealing?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“But it could be possible?” Gerald’s continued questioning had become annoying, and Lauren could see Max’s anger building in the way his jaw continually tensed.
“Anything’s possible,” Max answered. “Of course, you could have been caught stealing before, and I wouldn’t know that either.”
“Why don’t we change the subject?” Lauren suggested, adding more wine to her glass. “How was Rio, Mother?”
“It was lovely, darling, until Bunny realized that her necklace was missing.” Celeste aimed her eyes at Max. “Had you heard about that, Mr. Wilde?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
“It was a beautiful necklace, worth close to a quarter of a million, and it disappeared during Betsy Endicott’s wedding.”
“You think it disappeared then,” Lauren corrected.
“All right, Bunny and I think that’s when it disappeared. And now I hear that a necklace of Holly Rutherford’s may have also disappeared at Betsy’s wedding.”
Lauren watched Max take a long swallow of his wine, keeping his fury in check.
Gerald leaned back, holding his glass to his mouth, staring at Max over the rim.
Celeste glared at Max, too.
Lauren wanted to scream.
“What do the police have to say about all of this?” Max asked, looking pointedly at Celeste.
“They’ve talked with numerous people but haven’t come across any leads.”
Max’s eyebrow raised a notch. “But you have your suspicions, right?”
Celeste shrugged, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “People always have their suspicions.”
“Put the wrong person in the wrong place—the people who work for you, for instance,” Gerald added, “and people will always talk.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Lauren blurted out. “Max’s friends wouldn’t be caught dead stealing.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Gerald said, “but gossip has a nasty habit of
leaking out, and when it reaches the police, well, they could easily get suspicious. Then—”
“Then the blame gets laid in the wrong place. You know,” Max said, pushing away from the table, “I’m not in the habit of talking about other people or laying the blame on them, and I’m finding this conversation extremely dull.”
“I thought it was rather stimulating, myself,” Gerald stated. “It’s a shame you feel the need to leave so soon, especially before we’ve had a chance to taste Mrs. Fisk’s superlative meal.”
“I’ve lost my appetite.” Max tossed his napkin on top of his plate. “It was nice seeing you again, Lady Ashford.” He looked at Lauren, a hint of a smile softening the rage in his eyes. “Are you coming with me or staying here?”
Lauren didn’t hesitate in answering because there was only one thing she wanted, and that was to be with Max. She put down her napkin and reached for Max’s hand. “I’m going with you.”
“You have guests,” Celeste said, turning her controlled fury on her daughter. “It would be better if you stayed here.”
“The best thing for me is to be with Max,” Lauren threw back.
“Please don’t embarrass me, Lauren.”
“This isn’t about you, Mother. It’s about me.”
Lauren knew she should have felt guilty uttering those words. She should have been struck down by lightning for speaking to her mother that way. Instead, a sense of relief washed through her as she and Max left the house.
When they reached the Harley he pulled her into his arms. “Are you sure you want to go?”
She kissed him softly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Now let’s get out of here.” Max slung his leg over the cycle, holding Lauren’s hand as she hiked her dress up to her thighs and slipped on behind him.
“I’m sorry about all the accusations,” she said, snuggling close, weaving her arms tightly about his waist. “I’m sorry our evening was ruined, that we didn’t have dinner—”