French Silk(76)

Mary Catherine coyly laid her hand against her throat, looking as flustered as a wallflower who's just been asked to dance. "Well, Claire Louise, if you really need me there…"

"I do, Mama." Claire stood and assisted Mary Catherine to her feet. She whisked the newspaper out of sight. "Start choosing what you want to take with you. I'll call Harry and have her spend the night here. We'll get an early start in the morning. I've rented a van so there'll be plenty of room. We'll stop for breakfast somewhere along the way. Oh, this will be a lovely trip! It's been ages since we went away together."

"Yes, ages," Mary Catherine said as she drifted toward her room. "I'll take that new afternoon dress."

"By all means. You look beautiful in that shade of blue." As soon as Mary Catherine disappeared into her room, Claire snatched up the evening newspaper and read the infuriating article. It was trash, but it effectively planted in the reader's mind that Claire Laurent, publisher of the scandalous French Silk catalog, was a hussy who had tried seduction as a means of avoiding a murder rap.

Claire tried to locate Cassidy by telephone but was unsuccessful. After cooling down a bit, she reasoned that it was just as well she didn't speak with him. He wouldn't be enjoying the notoriety either. It would be better for them to handle this situation individually rather than as a team, which would only fuel Ariel's hints of an unethical and highly improper affair.

She called Harriet York, informed her of the change in plans, then checked with the proprietors of Rosesharon to make certain they had another bedroom available. As soon as Harry arrived, Claire left her to help Mary Catherine pack while she went downstairs to her workroom to place a long-distance call. She caught her business attorney in New York on his way out to dinner, but he patiently listened while she read him the majority of the newspaper article.

"I warned her not to slander me again," Claire told him when she finished reading. "She's waving a red flag in my face, daring me to sue her."

"That's what worries me," the lawyer said. "She wants to prolong her feud with you and take advantage of the publicity it generates. She's got nothing to lose by pursuing it. You, on the other hand, abhor publicity. Unless you want your private life exposed even more than it already has been—"

"I don't."

"Then I advise you to ignore her."

"Damn!" she muttered. "I know you're right, but I hate to back down. What good are ultimatums if you don't follow through?"

"It's like celebrities who threaten to sue the tabloids for the half-true stories they print. The litigation only creates more adverse publicity. It's a no-win situation. Unless you want all your dirty laundry aired publicly, your hands are tied."

"But how can I allow her to go on saying anything she pleases about me and my family?"

"You can't have it both ways, Claire. If you even hint at whitewashing what can or cannot be said to the media, you've got to be prepared for the backlash. Ariel Wilde could then say you stand for the First Amendment rights of free speech and free press only as long as they benefit you."

Claire sighed. "I never thought of it from that angle."

"I wouldn't be surprised if that's her ultimate goal," the lawyer said. "She'd love to see you eat your words on this censorship issue."

They discussed it for a few minutes more before Claire said, "I really don't have a better alternative than to continue ignoring her."

"That's my advice. She's a nuisance, but she can't really harm you."

"It's not me I worry about. I couldn't care less what Ariel Wilde or anyone else says about me. It's Mama. When anyone slanders her, I come out slugging. She and Yasmine are the only family I have. We're a tight little group who stands together or not at all."

"I know that. That's why I was so puzzled by that other matter."

"What other matter?"

Then he broke the really bad news.

* * *

The two Mrs. Monteiths were almost interchangeable. Grace's hair was a shade darker burgundy than Agnes's, but beyond that there wasn't much difference between the two buxom women. They were sisters-in-law, they explained to Claire as she checked in to the bed-and-breakfast house known as Rosesharon.

"Our husbands were brothers, you see," Agnes told her. "We lost them within months of each other."

"Rather than get into a squabble over who had inherited what in this house, we decided to pool our resources," Grace contributed.

"Each of us loves to cook. It only made sense to capitalize on our hobby."

"The place wasn't fit for guests, though."

"So we sold off part of the acreage and from that revenue hired a fancy decorator to redo the house from top to bottom."

"Well, she certainly did a wonderful job," Claire said, glancing around the wide foyer. The house had been refurbished to antebellum splendor.

"He," Agnes said in a stage whisper, while bobbing her purplish eyebrows. "Although he was prissier than most females I know."

"Agnes!" Grace admonished with a giggle, which she tried to cover with her veined, age-spotted hand.

As she imprinted Claire's credit card, Agnes said, "Your rooms are ready for you. Juice, cold drinks, and snacks of fruit and cookies can always be found in the kitchen if someone misses the regular meals. Breakfast is served between seven and eight-thirty, but there's always a fresh pot of coffee on the sideboard in the dining room. Lunch is an informal cold buffet. Tea and finger sandwiches are available from three-thirty until five. We open the bar at five, but except for the wine we serve with dinner, there's an extra charge for liquor. One has to mix his own, and we trust our guests to keep their own tabs. Dinner is the only formal meal. It's served at seven-thirty."