“Hello,” he says. “So lovely to hear your voice.”
“So lovely to hear your news,” she replies.
“Yes, madam. Anything else I can do for you?”
“Call me as soon as you have all the mourners identified.”
“Of course. I already have extra manpower in place.”
“Thank you,” she says. “I appreciate it.”
“Glad to be of service,” he says, and hangs up.
We are creeping ever closer. But in the meantime, we have a party to throw. The house will soon be full of noisy strangers eagerly chugging mint juleps and dragging their paws over all our lovely things. I know Belladonna is dreading this evening. She’s already told me she’s not going to the casual barbecue after Ezra and Ezekiel’s christening. I didn’t think she would. She doesn’t want to see twin boy babies. Bryony nicknames them “Eze” and “Zeke,” and she asks her mother why she can’t have a baby brother of her own. Belladonna merely smiles and says she’ll think about finding one.
There will be no thoughts of babies tonight. Belladonna won’t be wearing a mask, but one is already in place. Her nerves are like steel.
A steel trap, about to close on its prey.
15
Made for
Each Other
Money is wasted on the rich.
That’s what I decide on this balmy June night as the guests start to arrive for their long-desired party to end all parties at La Casa della Fenice.
Fen-isse, they wrongly pronounce it. Rhymes with Venice. Of course if any of them had ever gone to Venice, they’d have seen the glorious La Fenice opera house there. But never mind. I’m quibbling. Why should they go to Venice to see the sights when all the sights they need to see are so lovely in King Henry?
At least these sights had been lovely earlier today, when I hosted a splendid cookout for the tenants. The kids dashed around, pausing between games of tag and kickball to chow down on barbecued chicken and ribs, and nibble on Bianca’s peerless scones and biscotti. Guy was a special hit, playing games until breathless, showing off his ring which mysteriously changes from red to green every time he rubs it. The grown-ups were content to sprawl on lawn chairs and blankets and happily nurse endless cups of my special punch, spiked with bourbon and spices and a few herbs from the garden. All work was forbidden, except for feeding the animals, and we all pitched in to have the chores done with as expeditiously as possible. It was easy to laugh at the chickens squawking madly when there was a nice southern punch buzz going.
“That’s what the guests are going to look like later,” I announced to the henhouse and all assembled. “Just like our prize hens, grubbing around for worms.”
When everyone collapsed for naps later in the afternoon, Laura and I retired to the second-floor balcony, relaxing as the verdant landscape stretched endlessly at our feet.
“Tell me how you met Hugh,” I said. Belladonna had asked me to elicit the details, and this was a perfect time. “Conjure him up, so when he arrives later it’ll seem more like magic.”
“We met quite by accident,” Laura said, leaning back, eager to talk of him. “At a house party in Devon, about a year and a half ago. I knew his name vaguely. Hugh Trevenen. And I knew of his wife, of course, Nicola, Lady Pembridge. Everyone in our ‘set,’ as we call it, knows of her.”
“You mean how much she charges for her favors?” I rudely asked.
“No, how much she doesn’t,” Laura replied. “Andrew was too ‘busy,’ of course, so I went on my own. Nicola, too, was otherwise engaged. I had arrived a bit early, and went for a long walk before dinner. Then I went upstairs for a bath, and to change. This was a fairly enlightened household, mind you.” She laughed. “They had en-suite bathrooms for most of the guest bedrooms. So I sat down on the bed and was taking off my shoes and stockings when I realized someone was already in the bath. I heard him humming, rather tunelessly.” She smiled. “Terribly out of tune, as a matter of fact. I didn’t know quite what to do, and just as I was deciding whether to knock on the door to the bath or find one of the servants, the door opened and out he came. Wearing only a towel, poor thing.”
“Luckily he was wearing that,” I offered.
“Quite.” She was now smiling broadly at the memory. “’Good Lord,’ he said when he saw me. ‘What? Who are you?’
“’I was just about to ask you the same question,’ I replied, ‘and I rather think you owe me an explanation, considering that this is my room.’
“’Good Lord,’ he said again. ‘There must be some dreadful mistake.’
“’Or some dreadful practical joker.’
“’I do beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘I’m terribly sorry. I had no idea"’
“’You mean you didn’t see all the girlie things in the bath?’ I teased. He turned scarlet, so deeply mortified that I could hardly remain afraid or angry.
“’I was so late I’m afraid I failed to notice…oh dear. I didn’t think. Terribly clumsy of me.’
“He sank into the chair and I went to the bath and handed him my robe. He could hardly look me in the eye as he put it on. ‘I shall dress immediately in the bath and find one of the servants to move my things,’ he said. ‘I can’t understand why such … such a thing has never happened to me before. Please do forgive me.’
“Well, by this time I had quite gotten over the shock and was beginning to find the humor in the situation. Besides, he looked awfully adorable, and ever so forlorn. ‘No,’ I told him, ‘I think it might be better if you dress here whilst I dash in the bath.’ He looked rather stunned. ‘Truly,’ I said. I don’t know why I was so bold. ‘Since we’re both already here, let’s pretend that we’ve been doing this for years. Won’t be a sec.’
“I grabbed my frock and things, ran the fastest bath of my life, hurried into my clothes, and threw some powder and lipstick on my face. I don’t know why I was afraid he might be gone by the time I got out.”
“But he wasn’t,” I said.
“No, he was sitting exactly as he had been, in the same chair, fully dressed this time. He looked up at me, still mortified, and smiled. ‘You look lovely,’ he said.
“I didn’t know what to say, so I asked him to fasten my gown. Which he did, although his fingers were shaking. Then he sat down again as I fussed about with my jewelry.
“’Do you know,’ he said, ‘I don’t think in all the years I’ve been married that I’ve once watched my wife dress.’
“There was something about the manner in which he said ‘wife’ that went straight to my heart,” Laura said, looking at me. “’Do you know,’ I said to him, ‘in all the years I’ve been married, I can promise you I’ve not once watched my husband dress.’ We both laughed.”
“Too intimate, you mean,” I said. “Something about the state of partial undress that is more provocative than the body itself.”
“I tend not to think of provocative and Andrew in the same breath.”
“Well, what happened next?” I asked.
“We snuck out of the room once we were certain no one was watching. He suggested that it might have been someone trying to trip him up.”
“For photographs of a potentially adulterous situation, you mean,” I said.
“Quite. But we found out later that it had been an innocent mistake by the staff. Guy found that out, I should say.”
“Is that when you first met Guy?”
“Yes, they’re the best of friends, Hugh and Guy. He said he’d find Guy, that Guy could fix anything.”
Oh ho, I’ll bet he can!
“In the drawing room was a silver tray with envelopes on it, so that each gentleman would have the name of the lady he was to escort in to dinner,” Laura went on. “I watched as the man who’d been in my room pulled someone aside; I figured that was Guy. I could see them both looking at me. I thought everyone else was, too.” She blushed, and as usual her entire face and neck were suffused with a lovely pink glow.
“’Ah, well, jolly good l
uck,’ Guy told him. ‘She’s a corker.’
“’Yes, she is,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know who she is. I’m such a sodding fool, I forgot to ask her name.’ He told me this later,” Laura added. “We both forgot to ask.”
“Enter the rogue,” I said. “The dearest Guy.”
“He’s not so bad once you get to know him. Truly he’s not. He introduced himself, told me all about Hugh Trevenen and his wife, Nicola, Lady Pembridge, and said I was the best thing that ever could have happened to him. All this in five minutes before dinner. It was ever so ridiculous, but made me relax. Then Guy whispered that it wasn’t quite such a good idea for us to be seated next to each other at dinner, just in case. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘dinners are always the most successful when you seat people who are bitter enemies right next to one another. A wife and a mistress, for example, or a dismal playwright and his least favorite critic. A touch of loathing quite improves the conversation.’” She laughed, again. “I still remember his exact words because they were so, I don’t know, so troppo.”
“And so true,” I said. “What was the dinner like?”
“I hardly remember,” she said. “Hugh and I were trying to keep our eyes off each other, but it was hopeless. All I kept thinking was that this wonderful feeling was some kind of warning, that there was something so expectant about Hugh, as if he were sitting down to a banquet while at the same time expecting the food to be snatched from his lips before he had a chance to take one bite. That he was haunted by the feeling that he would always be disappointed and unhappy. And then I realized I could have been describing myself.
“After dinner, all I could think of was Hugh,” she went on. “How much I wanted to find him in my room when I went upstairs.”
“Do you mind my asking if you did?” I said.
“No, of course not,” she replied, her eyes dancing. “And no, I didn’t. Not that night. I was frightfully sorry. But it was too dangerous. The last thing I could risk was someone discovering us together and gleefully relating all to my husband. Or to Hugh’s wife.”
“I think we should introduce Andrew and Nicola,” I said. “They sound like a perfect couple.”
“Indeed,” Laura replied, sighing. “But I’m afraid it’s not that easy.”
“It never is. Do go on.” I knew we were about to get to the really juicy bits.
“The next morning, I was lying on a sofa in the study, in front of the fire, when two of the guests came in and began gossiping about Hugh and Nicola,” Laura said. “They’d no idea I was there, and I was wondering what to do when I saw Guy strolling in from the gardens. He took one look at me, one look at them, and took charge immediately. That’s when I realized Guy was truly a friend indeed.
“’Ladies,’ he said as he sauntered in. Rather bursting with vitality, I remember. I could see it all in the mirror. ‘I have a dilemma, which only you can solve. Should I go upstairs for a quick kip before lunch, or shall I return to the splendors of nature … in which case I shall rather desperately require the company of such adorable creatures as yourselves.’ He kissed their hands. They, naturally, were giggling that they weren’t properly dressed for an outdoor expedition.”
“Guy’s reputation preceded him,” I said. “Was he born seductive?”
“I don’t know,” Laura said with a fond smile. “Those two certainly decided he was. He told them that if they could return in exactly seven minutes with their wellies on, they’d be off. They ran off, and Guy came to me, leaning over the sofa to say that Hugh was waiting, that his room was at the end of the hall, opposite the knight in shining armor. That’s how it started.”
“Opposite the suit of armor.” I sighed deeply. I so hate unhappy romances. “What is to be done now?”
“I don’t know,” Laura said mournfully. “Belladonna, from the club, put me in touch with a detective in London, but he told me we must be absolutely certain the case is airtight. It’s ever so difficult. For all his philandering, Andrew doesn’t want a divorce.”
“Could it be that he doesn’t want to lose access to your money?”
“Yes, of course, but I’ve got to think of the children. As Hugh thinks of his.”
“Does Andrew know about Hugh?”
“No, I don’t think so.” She patted her hair, as usual. “I’m afraid he’ll find out and that will be the end of everything. It’s why Guy is so special. I couldn’t see Hugh without Guy poking his nose every which way, making sure everything is spit-spot. He really is terribly sweet.”
She sighed again, and we sat lost in thought about the impossibility of love.
When the guests began to arrive, we had them park their proudly shined chrome behemoths in neat rows on the runway. Every license plate, already photographed by the hidden security cameras at the gates, is matched to its occupants on a cross-indexed list Winken and Blinken set up. Everything about this evening has been organized with military precision. We probably have more security people, dressed in white dinner jackets, carrying the ubiquitous silver beakers full of icy mint juleps, than guests. Such a vast estate and the people visiting it are not as easily controllable as the Club Belladonna, of course, which makes us slightly edgy.
But it can’t be helped. And this one evening will soon be over.
Belladonna stands in the entrance hallway, a stunning portrait of serene elegance. A large ruby, complementing the color of her eyes, shimmers on a choker, and she wears matching pearl and ruby earrings. Her mass of chestnut hair is twisted in a chignon like Laura’s, and her lips are stained a dark pink. She is wearing a most becoming pale green strapless dress of duchesse satin, nipped tightly at the waist and flaring out to her ankles, with matching elbow-length satin gloves so she won’t have to touch anyone’s hands directly. Not a single ring adorns her fingers, although many of her guests have imported the affectation of wearing them from the famous club they’d heard so much about.
Belladonna forces a slight smile, so her guests have no idea she is counting the minutes until they leave. She has already endured the gushing compliments of the Robertsons and their blushing houseguest, Nancy. She has an especially gracious greeting for the lumberyard’s very own Cooper Marriner, who turns such a pleasing shade of puce when he sees his hostess that I have to pinch my wrist to keep from laughing. We’ve heard about the Blackwaters’ hounds and the Leightons’ decorating fiascos and how hard it is to manage all these, well, you know, dreadful people down here. The guests look askance at Bryony and Susannah, flitting excitedly from room to room, commenting on the fantastically overdone ensembles the ladies are wearing. The Contessa murmurs politely, refusing to rise to the bait. Why, she’s become the talk of the neighborhood, how downright friendly she is with undesirables. Must be because she lived so long in Europe, they tell themselves. Those barbarians know nothing. We of King Henry, on the other hand, have all the answers. They come in a bourbon bottle, don’t you know.
I guess it’s because alcohol is a preservative. Keeps them all well pickled.
Belladonna shows no sign of weariness as the guests flow in, trampling through the house in awe, poking at the fish in the smaller dining room, trying to keep their fingers off the valuable objects in the other rooms"until they realize they’re being watched by an unsmiling waiter with a tray of crabmeat canapes in one hand and a holster near the other. Off they trot to the overladen buffet tables on the veranda, or to the bar for endless cups of punch or beakers of juleps. Then it’s time for a whirl around the magnificient copper ballroom while the band plays Cole Porter tunes and all seems right with the world.
After an hour or two, Belladonna has had more than enough, and goes upstairs to the blue bedroom for a breather, leaving the door slightly ajar. There she finds a dejected Laura waiting, sitting in one of the two silver-blue leather wingback chairs she has turned to face the balcony running nearly the length of the second floor. They look at each other but say nothing. If only Belladonna could open up and allow herself a friend. If only she"
&
nbsp; The door is flung open, and they hear the soft crinkle of satin skirts. There’s a dull thud as two rather large bodies heave themselves down on the sofa nearest to the door. They have no idea anyone is sitting in the chairs facing the balcony.
“Did you see the chandelier?” one of the bodies says in a deep drawl. “I happen to know it cost at least forty-five thousand dollars. Maybe fifty.”
“No. You don’t say,” says the other. “Just exactly how much money do you think she’s got?”
“Buckets. Buckets and buckets.”
“And how, may I ask, d’you think she got it?”
“The usual way. Flat on her back.”
Laura frowns as Belladonna’s eyes narrow. Actually, she thinks these two are about the most amusing creatures she’s heard all night, but she’s certainly not going to give them the pleasure of knowing that.
“Why, Shirley Marriner, you are a wicked creature.”
“No more so than you, Letitia Blackwater.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
There is a short pause while Shirley and Letitia revel in their moral superiority. Shirley is stuffed into a bright teal blue taffeta frock with so many petticoats that you could hide an army in them; her ensemble is topped with a peacock-feather headdress. Letitia’s endless loops of pastel ruffles make her look like a vast puddle of melted sherbet. Worse, their shoes have rows of rhinestones marching around the heels. The copycat rings and gloves and masked theme parties are bad enough, but the sight of Belladonna-inspired shoes at a plantation ball in King Henry, Virginia is too much for me to bear. Something simply must be done, with immediate dispatch!
“That heathen room with all those grotesque statues. Why, no honest Christian woman would have such a thing.”
“Those revolting nudes in the salon. It’s a disgrace.”
“Those horrid little fish in the dining room. Ghastly.”
“That horrid little girl, playing with the daughter. Can you imagine?”
“Not what I want my Melissa playing with.”
“Or my Polly.”
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