Perfect Stranger

by Duncan, Alice

  “Are you well enough to return to the porch?” Isabel asked. “I wish Dr. Abernathy wouldn’t tease you so, but I honestly think he does it because he fancies you.”

  “Codswallop. He thinks I’m a stuffy old spinster with no grit.” Marjorie blew her nose yet again, stuffed the hankie back into her pocket, and straightened her shoulders. “I may be a useless, contemptible female with no direction in life, but I willna let that man get me down.”

  “Good,” Isabel said with more heartiness than she felt. Knowing her place in the world, even if she was currently residing in America, she picked up the tea tray. She was about to march off with it when Marjorie touched her arm. She set the tray back down and glanced at her.

  “Are my eyes too red? Will he be able to tell I’ve been having exterics?”

  Figuring that exterics were probably akin to hysterics, Marjorie’s question made Isabel smile. If she could worry about her looks, perhaps all wasn’t completely lost. She replied with candor. “Your eyes are a trifle swollen, dearie, but the light is dimming. I doubt that he’ll notice anything.”

  Marjorie sniffed. “He’ll probably be too busy thinking of some new way to flummox me.”

  As she lifted the tray again and headed for the porch, Isabel thought Marjorie was probably right.

  # # #

  Somerset didn’t have any trouble at all in persuading Loretta Linden, Marjorie MacTavish, and Dr. Jason Abernathy to accompany him to dinner at the Fairfield Hotel the night of Isabel’s debut as part of the hotel’s new dancing pair, Isabel and Jorge, supposedly dancers of international renown.

  “They’re international, at any rate,” muttered Jason.

  “And they’ll probably acquire some renown once people see them dance together,” Loretta said brightly.

  She wasn’t wearing her spectacles, but had brought them with her so she’d be able to see when Isabel and Jorge took to the dance floor. She held tightly to Jason’s arm so she wouldn’t bump into anything. Somerset wished she’d just don the specs. She looked quite well in them, and Loretta without her eyeglasses could be dangerous. His foot still hurt where her high heel had come down on it.

  “Their first demonstration begins at nine-thirty, doesn’t it?” asked Marjorie.

  Jason drew out his gold watch, and Somerset held his breath. He understood that Marjorie made a tempting target for his teasing, but he wished Jason would ease up on the woman. According to Isabel, Marjorie, far from being the bland wallflower she presented herself as being, was a good and sensitive soul who was more to be pitied than laughed at. He’d decided to take her word for it, even if she still seemed to him to be aloof and withdrawn. At the moment, Marjorie gripped her evening handbag as if it were her one link to life and kept shooting worried glances at Jason, anticipating an attack. Somerset felt kind of sorry for her. So far, Jason had behaved.

  “Yes. So that gives us an hour and a half before they perform.” Jason put his watch back and didn’t so much as wink at Marjorie. “Should be plenty of time to have dinner and dance a bit.”

  Marjorie and Loretta were looking lovely this evening. Somerset hadn’t believed Marjorie could look so well, actually. Her red hair was dressed in an upsweep and shone like polished copper. Loretta’s hair was also dressed prettily. She had thick, dark brown hair, and could, of course, afford to hire the best hair dressers. Somerset assumed she’d strong-armed Marjorie into accepting the services of whichever hair dresser enjoyed her custom. Or perhaps she employed a lady’s maid, although that didn’t sound like the Loretta Linden he’d come to know.

  Their gowns, too, were quite the thing, even though Somerset wasn’t quite sure how women managed to get around in the new fashions. Fortunately for an evening intended for dancing, Loretta’s free-thinking tendencies had not allowed her to have her dress drawn in so tightly at the ankles that she hobbled when she walked.

  Loretta’s own gown was a vivid scarlet made from some shimmery fabric that appealed to Somerset’s artist’s soul. Marjorie, who had always seemed to Somerset a bit of a plain Jane, stood out like a swan in a herd of ducks tonight, in a sea-green gown that matched her eyes and made them seem huge. With her red hair and pale skin, she truly looked almost beautiful. Somerset was impressed. Neither Loretta nor Marjorie could hold a candle to Isabel, of course, but they were very attractive women.

  The maitre d’hotel bowed low before Loretta’s party—Somerset was pretty sure it was Loretta who was being honored since neither he nor Jason had quite enough money to warrant such servility—and smiled. “Your table is awaiting you, madames and m’sieurs.” His accent was thick enough to spread on toast.

  As the maitre d’ headed off, followed by Loretta and Marjorie, with Somerset and Jason bringing up the rear, Jason whispered, “Do you think that guy’s really French?”

  Somerset shrugged. “I haven’t the least idea.”

  Putting a hand on Somerset’s arm to slow him down, Jason tipped his head toward the two women preceding them. “They both look quite lovely tonight, don’t they?”

  “Very. I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “Wonder if Miss MacTavish will be shocked when she sees Mrs. Golightly take to the floor. Loretta said she and her partner make quite a pair.”

  Somerset realized he’d started grinding his teeth and stopped. “Yes,” he said. “They make quite a pair.”

  Jason’s eyes were twinkling fiendishly when Somerset glanced at him. He said, “What? What’s the matter?”

  “Not a thing, old man. Not a thing. But, you know, sometimes you have to take the bull by the horns.”

  Stiffening and feeling foolish, Somerset said coldly, “I haven’t a notion in the world what you’re talking about.”

  With a “Tsk-tsk,” Jason propelled his companion along the way, between tables, following the two women as they headed toward a table at the edge of the dance floor. “All I’m saying is that Mrs. Golightly is a lovely young widow, and she deserves better than having to dance the tango with a stranger for a living.”

  “I agree,” Somerset said tersely.

  “Then it might be wise to speed up the courtship, old man, or she’s liable to be snapped up by someone else. From this night on, she’s going to be in a position to be noticed.”

  The full horror of the doctor’s statement brought Somerset to a standstill. He might have stood there gaping indefinitely, but Jason still had a grip on his arm and tugged him forward.

  The man was right! Good God above, he was right! Not only was Isabel now in a position where she would be noticed by available single men, but she might even be noticed by available married men in search of fresh prey. The notion of Isabel becoming the mistress of some philandering San Francisco millionaire made his blood run cold.

  “Come, come, old man. It’s not that bad.” Jason chuckled, as if he’d read Somerset’s thoughts and found them amusing. “But I know you tend to be rather focused on your work and forget the social amenities. I don’t want you to lose out on a good thing from sheer oversight.”

  Although Somerset wasn’t sure he appreciated Jason’s words, he honestly did appreciate having this salient, and heretofore-unnoticed-by-him, fact of life pointed out to him. Therefore, he opted to be grateful and to save his wrath for another purpose. “Thanks, Doctor. I appreciate the tip.”

  “Thought you might.”

  They’d reached the table where the maitre d’hotel and Marjorie and Loretta had stopped. Somerset hurried to hold Marjorie’s chair, preempting Jason’s doing so for fear he might not do it without the accompaniment of a ragging comment. If Jason could abet Somerset in his love life, could Somerset do any less for Jason? He didn’t honestly think that teasing a woman to death was the finest example of courtship he’d ever seen. Perhaps he’d drop a hint in the man’s ear.

  All through the soup course, the conversation was light and breezy. Somerset’s thoughts, however, were anything but. He contemplated Isabel Golightly more fervently than he’d done since he’d met
her.

  During the fish course, he tried to recall every interaction they’d had, starting with that horror of a night on Titanic, when he was fortunate enough to be there when Isabel had stumbled. Since Somerset didn’t believe in divine intervention, he chalked that circumstance up to chance, but he appreciated it.

  Then he contemplated the nature of his feelings for her. He daydreamed about her constantly, true, but was this love? His nose wrinkled as he sipped a pale, dry Chardonnay from a nearby California vineyard.

  “Is something the matter, Mr. FitzRoy?”

  When Somerset peered at her over his wine glass, Loretta appeared concerned, although that might only be a result of near-blindness. “Not a thing, Miss Linden. In fact, the fish is delicious. So is this wine.”

  She leaned forward a trifle. “That’s from a vineyard owned by a friend of mine, Lucy Magdalena. I had to twist Joseph’s arm before he’d try it, but even he now admits that Lucy’s wines are superb.”

  The notion of a woman operating a functioning vineyard so surprised Somerset that thoughts of Isabel slipped into the distance for a couple of seconds. “Does she run the place alone?” he asked, astounded.

  Loretta lifted her chin. “Her brothers help.”

  “Ah.” That made more sense. Somerset couldn’t feature a female actually running a business. She probably kept the books or typed letters or something.

  “But,” Loretta said, cutting into his thoughts rather loudly, “Lucy runs the business. Tony and Sam are only the brawn.”

  “Oh.” If Loretta was correct, that shot his assumptions about a woman running a business right out of the sky. Somerset decided not to believe her quite yet, and his mind wandered back to Isabel.

  Love. Did he love Isabel?

  His nose wrinkled again, but he managed to subdue it before Loretta noticed. He supposed he did, actually, although love seemed rather an unmasculine thing to succumb to.

  Did love matter? He admired her tremendously. He liked her very well indeed. He found her almost too attractive. In fact, when he was in her company, his juices tended to flow a trifle too freely.

  Which made him think about that filthy Argentine fellow and all the men who would be holding her in their arms this evening, and his teeth began grinding again. As luck would have it, the waiter had just served the roasted lamb, and he chewed on that while he contemplated Isabel dancing with a horde of randy strangers.

  He came to the conclusion that love was an unnecessary frivolity and that he needn’t think about it. Somerset had seen many happy marriages in which the partners didn’t fawn over one another. His parents sprang to mind. The notion of his mother and father canoodling boggled his mind, actually, although they must have been intimate a couple of times, at least, or Somerset and his sister wouldn’t have been born. Still, one could be married and preserve the proprieties.

  Anyhow, Isabel had been married once. Surely if she had wanted the trappings of love and romance, she’d got that out of her system by this time. Somerset, who knew himself to be somewhat stodgy at times, and who also knew that he could more easily get lost in a garden than in a swashbuckling adventure story, prayed that she wasn’t looking for dash, because he didn’t have any.

  Oh, he knew all the stories told about devil-may-care journalists who tracked down stories and got involved in exciting undertakings like wars and rebellions and so forth, but he wrote a gardening column, for God’s sake. The idea of him, Somerset FitzRoy, fending off foes with sword or pistol might have made him laugh if he’d been alone. As it was, he peered around the table to make sure no one was watching him. He’d forgotten he was in company. Jason winked at him, and Somerset tried to pull his mind back to the here and now.

  “This is a wonderful salad,” he said, to make them think he’d been paying attention.

  When Jason rolled his eyes and Marjorie and Loretta looked only confused, he guessed he’d tipped his hand. He took another bite of salad to prove that he wasn’t totally unaware of his company and smiled generally.

  “Yes,” said Marjorie. “It’s very tasty.”

  Somerset managed to get through the rest of the dinner without too many more social blunders by making a great effort to remain in the here and now. His problem, he decided, was that he was liable to go off on tangents while he was in the company of others. If he intended to ask for Isabel’s hand in marriage, he needed to stop being so absent-minded.

  When the dance band started playing, his heart sped up and he took out his pocket watch and squinted at it. A quarter past the hour. Only fifteen minutes left, and he’d get to see Isabel again. Hold her in his arms, even, if he could fend off the hordes of other men with similar intentions.

  “Would you care to dance, Miss MacTavish?” Jason asked.

  Somerset’s attention immediately focused on Marjorie, who shrank back against her chair and peered at Jason as if he were the devil incarnate. This reaction only tickled Jason, of course. He said, “I promise I won’t stick pins in you.”

  Her cheeks seemed to catch fire, and she muttered, “Don’t be daft.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Jason reached over, took Marjorie’s hand, and fairly dragged her out of her chair and over to the dance floor.

  With a laugh, Loretta said, “Oh, dear, I hope those two will start getting along one of these days.”

  “I do, too.” Somerset shook his head. “I’m not sure why he torments her so.”

  “Isabel claims it’s because he fancies her. And she might be right. I’ve never known him to treat anyone else like that, and I’ve known him all my life.”

  Following the direction of Loretta’s glance, Somerset saw that, so far, Jason and Marjorie were waltzing with great propriety and a good deal of flair. He stood and bowed over Loretta. “Why don’t we join them, Miss Linden? This is a lively tune.”

  Loretta stood, too. “Thank you, Mr. FitzRoy. I should like very much to dance. I have so little opportunity to do so these days.”

  “Ah, yes. All those committee meetings and so forth.”

  “Absolutely.” She spoke the one word as if she aimed to flatten anyone who so much as hinted at disapproval of any of her causes. Somerset knew better than to do anything so idiotic, no matter what his private thoughts might be.

  They swirled off into the crowd of dancers. Loretta was quite short, but she danced well. Somerset hoped to get in as much practice as possible before Isabel took to the floor, because he wanted to be a partner she wouldn’t be reluctant to dance with.

  Naturally, he’d been forced to take dancing lessons as a boy, like most of the children he knew in his social class, but he hadn’t really paid much attention to the art form, being more interested in the natural sciences. Since he’d met Isabel and learned how well she could dance, he’d been practicing at home alone. But at home alone wasn’t the best way to practice dancing, and using a wooden chair for a partner only made things worse. He knew himself to be a trifle rusty. In actual fact, he believed he might possibly have been born with two left feet.

  The band’s rendition of “Fascination” lasted a little longer than Somerset thought was strictly necessary, but he enjoyed it. So, evidently, did Loretta, who applauded with zest when the music stopped. Before they reached their table, the band struck up the opening bars of a ragtime tune. Loretta stopped walking and looked up at him, and Somerset decided why not. A little more practice couldn’t hurt, especially given Isabel’s expertise with the various dance forms.

  He lost track of the time and of Jason and Marjorie while he danced with Loretta. After the ragtime number, the band played a foxtrot, then another waltz, and then the master of ceremonies took the floor. Somerset was out of breath when he finally held Loretta’s chair and she all but fell into it.

  “Oh, my!” she breathed. “I haven’t danced like that for years.”

  “Nor have I,” admitted Somerset, trying to wipe his forehead with a discreetly drawn handkerchief.

  “I have an announcement,” said Ja
son, escorting Marjorie back to the table.

  Loretta and Somerset both looked up at him with interest. What did the man mean? Had he taken his own advice and popped the question? Somerset understood that, if he meant to pursue Isabel, he’d best get at it before some other man beat him to it, but he didn’t see any particular hurry regarding Marjorie, who wasn’t exposed to so much competition on a daily basis. A glance at Loretta told him she was thinking along the same lines.

  She only said, “Oh? And what is that?” Then she picked up her water glass and drained half of it.

  “The ice maiden dances like an angel.” Jason bowed deeply as he held Marjorie’s chair.

  She blushed like a forest fire as she sat. Somerset shook his head and wondered why Jason couldn’t go through one tiny little evening without ragging poor Marjorie.

  # # #

  Isabel fingered the bright-red fringes at her waist nervously. Loretta had paid for this frock, of course, as she had the other three Isabel had had made for her new job, although she’d reluctantly agreed to let Isabel pay her back a little at a time. She glanced at Jorge, who was inspecting himself in the mirror.

  She didn’t think she’d ever met so vain a man before. He preened more than any three women Isabel knew. She’d inspected her own makeup and decided she looked as good as she could, and that was that. Not Jorge. If he wasn’t fiddling with his hat, he was fussing with the fringes on his crimson sash, all the while staring into the mirror and striking dramatic poses.

  For their first number, a sizzling Argentine tango, they both wore black and red, and her hair was pulled back starkly and knotted at the nape of her neck. Isabel’s gown was a black-satin number with a fiery red silk scarf that draped over one shoulder and tied at her waist. The other shoulder was completely bare, and she felt terribly exposed. However, Jorge had gone so far as to lift an eyebrow and say she looked all right, so she figured she must. Jorge was only lavish when he was complimenting himself.