The Charmers: A Novel(33)
“What do you think?” I leaned closer so he could hear me over the music—dancing was well under way, heels already coming off, jackets soon too, I’d bet.
“Think about what?” The Boss signaled a waiter from the darkness to top-up my glass, and I let him. I knew good champagne when I tasted it. And I liked it. One and a half glasses. I was keeping count, as Verity was not and I knew a girl must. I was also watching Chad, who was now sitting next to Verity.
I caught her dismayed look, then her cheeky grin as she attempted to pull down the white skirt. She slid off her stool, patted Chad on the arm, said something to him, then wandered off in the direction of the house. She stopped momentarily to slip off her silvery sandals, then sauntered on her way, swinging them by their straps. I’d almost bet she was humming along as she went. I recalled the desperate, crying young woman on the train, her story about the cheater; the stolen money, such as it was; the runaway girl not knowing where she was going or how to get there or what she was going to do when she did. My little Verity was definitely coming into her own.
Chad returned, frowning as he took another look after her. “She told me she was okay,” he said. “And I told her that, as a doctor, I thought she should not have any more champagne. And she told me that champagne never did any girl any harm.”
“She should have been grateful for your medical attention,” I said with a smile. He was so handsome, so man-of-the-world and famous doctor all rolled into one, for this night anyway before he took on his other persona, back in some jungle village fixing little kids’ faces so they might have regular lives.
The Boss, who was still sitting on my other side, said, “Well, how are you enjoying my little party, Doctor? Different from your usual surroundings I’ll bet.”
I looked at them, pleased. For the first time in my life I was with the two most attractive men in the room. I preened myself metaphorically and took another discreet sip of the pink champagne. Perfectly iced, perfectly chosen. Nothing escaped the attention of the man of a different world from mine and Chad’s.
I noticed the two guards who had been watching discreetly had disappeared. They must believe their boss was safe with us.
“Mirabella.” The Boss smiled, the kind of intimate smile meant just for me. The man knew how to charm and, what the heck, he was attractive, with that tall, dark, intense look of his. Besides, it was a good opportunity to make Chad Prescott jealous, perhaps make him take a second glance and maybe think I was okay in my floaty aqua gown that showed off my curves, and the pearls that showed off my breasts. And my hair in a red cloud that was expertly made-up-by-Verity. I didn’t look so bad, even if I did say so myself.
“May I have the pleasure of this dance?” the Boss said. And this time it was my hand he took as he escorted me to the parquet dance floor that had been specially installed over the lawn. He slid his arm around my back and I slid against his starched shirt front, breasts crushed, hair flying. It was, I told myself, very nice.
25
Sometime later, Chad and I were hovering over the buffet tables, pretty in linen cloths with crystal bowls and silver platters with tiny softshell crabs, sweet shrimp fresh from the bay, grilled red snapper, and hot potato pancakes.
Fettucini was piled with morsels of lobster. The french fries were scattered with herbs and cheese, and slow-roasted pork was sliced to order and soft as butter and twice as fragrant. All the elegant, thin women who lived on salads tucked in, saving room for the desserts, a pyramid of chocolate and cream profiteroles.
He had put on the great all-American barbecue when everybody had expected something fancier, and I saw he was very much enjoying the astonished looks on his guests’ faces when they inspected the serving tables, trimmed with orange and yellow unscented marigolds and purple pansies and other common or garden flowers, not the expected orchids and roses flown in from South America. First came the looks of shock. Then the frowns of worry that all was not correct, then the murmurs of delight as compliments came his way. Somehow, it all just worked.
Of course his guests were used to the best, that’s why they were here. Many of them the Boss did not even know; his party planner had a list of accessible people who were always up for freebie top-drawer events, and who looked good and had the right clothes to qualify.
“But how wonderful,” I said as Chad and I inspected the lavish spread. “And how beautiful it all looks, so simple and pretty, like a real back garden on the Fourth of July.”
The Boss smiled at me, pleased at the compliment, but Chad was not looking at the buffet.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” he said. “I need to check something.”
I wondered what it was he needed to check so urgently. Then I remembered he was keeping an eye out for Verity.
I excused myself and edged through the perfumed crowd, aware that the women were eyeing me. They’d seen me talking to the Boss; he was the prime catch and any one of them—the unaccompanied ones anyway and probably some of the married ones too—would like to catch that “catch.”
I caught up to Chad as he was coming back from the house.
“She’s not there,” he said shortly.
“But I could swear I saw her go in.”
“And so did I.”
“I mean, I just thought, well, a bathroom break, you know.…”
“She’s not in the bathroom. Not in any bathroom. There’s staff everywhere, guarding the doors to all the rooms so nobody can make off with the silver, I guess. They all claim not to have seen any woman of her description. I even checked with the one in charge of the ladies’ room, who threw me out and said I had no right to be in there. Well, of course I didn’t, but she had not seen Verity either. What worries me, Mirabella, is that we both know she’d had too much to drink and that she went into the house. And now everybody is saying she did not. What the f*ck is going on?”