“I just can’t believe he’s that bad. He was always so nice when he worked at the Haywards’.”
Spence leaned forward, rinsed off his hands, and wiped them on a towel, his expression grim. “I doubt that he was all that ‘nice’ even then.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because among his many enemies are Charles and Doug Hayward. They hate him thoroughly.”
Corey’s hands went still over the salad bowl. “Doug’s never given any indication of that.”
“He gave you one last night. When the auction was over, Diana brought Harrison over to the table. Do you remember what happened?”
“Yes, of course. Doug said something that I thought was tactless and unlike him, but he’d seemed strange all during dinner.”
“He was perfectly normal until Diana walked into the ballroom with Cole Harrison. Later, he deliberately avoided shaking Harrison’s hand.”
“But—”
“Listen to me, honey. Last night you were so euphoric because Harrison had ‘charged to Diana’s rescue’ that I didn’t want to spoil it for you, but the truth is that Doug and Charles Hayward thoroughly despise him. I’m only telling you now so you don’t set yourself or Diana up for a fall by dreaming that this marriage might turn into anything more than it is.”
“Despise him?” she whispered. “Why? What could Cole possibly have done?”
“I’ve told you everything I know, and the only reason I know that much is because Doug visited me in Newport several years ago right after he’d gone to visit Barbara in the hospital in New York. He was upset because she wasn’t doing any better, and I took him sailing and then out to dinner, hoping to cheer him up.” Spence walked over to one of the cabinets and retrieved bottles of white wine vinegar and extra virgin olive oil, which he opened and began pouring into measuring cups. “We’d had some wine, and we decided to spend the rest of the evening at my house. We went into the library to watch the news, and the latest issue of Newsweek was on the coffee table. Harrison’s picture was on the cover and when Doug saw it, he launched into a diatribe against Harrison that was so filled with malice you wouldn’t have believed Doug was doing the talking.”
Spence looked up from whisking the oil and vinegar together. “He ranted about revenge and how long he and his father have been waiting for the right chance. Somehow Barbara came up, and then I thought the man was going to break down and cry. The next thing I knew he’d gotten himself under control and he went to bed. The next morning he apologized and said he’d had too much to drink the night before, and that I shouldn’t pay any attention to his ‘drunken ramblings.’?”
“Maybe that’s all they were,” Corey said hopefully as she gave a final toss to the undressed salad. “Doug has never been able to drink.”
“Believe me, I know,” Spence said with a reminiscent smile. “When I was at SMU, he used to stay with me at the fraternity house whenever he came to Dallas. To this day, I’ve never seen anyone but Doug turn into Superman and try to leap tall buildings in a single bound—on three rum and Cokes.”
Corey nodded, but her attention had returned to the couple on the lawn. She watched Cole closely as he listened intently to whatever Diana was telling him. Beside her, Spence observed the same scene. Without meaning to, Corey spoke her thought aloud. “I just don’t believe it.”
Spence wisely refrained from reminding Corey that she hadn’t believed a carpenter’s assistant was stealing tools from their garage a month ago, even when she saw a wrench sticking out of his back pocket.
Corey refrained from pointing out to Spence that he had liked Dan Penworth, who had turned out to be a world-class rat. That wouldn’t have done any good anyway, because the whole family had liked Dan. “Can you at least try to give Cole the benefit of the doubt? It would make everything so much easier.”
Spence looked at her worried face and gave in with a deliberately suggestive leer. “Okay, beautiful, but it’ll cost you,” he said; then he turned to leave. Corey caught his arm. “Cute loincloth,” she teased, reaching around his waist to free the towel.
Spence returned the compliment by turning toward her, reaching behind her, and playfully cupping her derriere. “Cute butt,” he said and nipped her ear.
To their left, Glenna marched in on her silent, rubber-soled orthopedic shoes. “I’ll just get the duck off the grill before it turns into a chunk of charcoal,” she volunteered in a long-suffering voice.
Corey stiffened and Spence froze; then he pulled her tighter to him and, laughing, kissed her anyway.
Chapter 36
WHEN COLE WALKED INTO THE formal dining room beside Diana, he assumed from what he saw that her family had decided to try to pretend Diana’s sudden marriage was a reason for celebration instead of homicide.
A large bowl of yellow roses in the center of the dining room table was flanked by candelabra aglow with tapers; the table was laid with formal china and gleaming silver flatware. A large china platter contained succulent slices of roasted duck breast, a large plate was piled high with fluffy buttermilk biscuits, and two serving bowls held new potatoes roasted with olive oil and rosemary, and steamed young asparagus.
The ladies made gallant attempts to smile at him, and even Grandpa managed a polite nod as he took his place at the head of the table and indicated Cole should take the seat at his right. Diana’s grandmother sat on her husband’s left, directly across from Cole, but when Diana started around the table to sit beside Cole, Gram said, “Corey, dear, why don’t you sit next to Mr. Harrison and let Spence sit next to me so we can all have a chance to get to know each other.”
Mrs. Foster took her place at the foot of the table and Diana sat between her mother and Spence. Cole saw Mrs. Foster register confusion at the peculiar emphasis on an even more peculiar seating arrangement, but one glance at the lineup Gram had neatly arranged showed him that Gram had managed to put him squarely in the “hot seat.” Grandpa was on his left, Gram and Addison were directly across from him, Corey was on his right, and Diana—his only ally—was well removed.
Nothing could have made Cole feel like a bigger hypocrite than thanking an imaginary God he didn’t believe in for things He hadn’t accomplished in the first place, and then compounding the idiocy by asking for favors He had neither the power—or perhaps the inclination—to grant. Hypocrisy was not one of Cole’s many faults, and so he bent his head less than an inch and studied the hand-embroidered yellow rose on his napkin while he waited for the official inquisition to begin.
Henry Britton was not a man given to procrastination. He finished the prayer and said, “Amen. Cole, what are your plans?”
Before Cole could phrase an answer, Diana looked squarely at Corey and said, “Corey’s dying to hear about the wedding, and I made her wait until now, when I could tell all of you at once.”
Corey unhesitatingly picked up her cue. “Let’s hear about the wedding first, Grandpa. After we catch up on the present, Cole and Diana can tell us all about the future.” To Cole she added, “Will that be all right?”
In those few moments, Cole arrived at several meaningful conclusions: Gram was not, as he had earlier supposed, merely elderly, outspoken, and endearingly eccentric, she was elderly, outspoken, possibly eccentric, and probably wily as hell.
Corey was an unswerving ally of Diana’s, and possibly neutral where he was concerned, while Diana—Diana with her lovely features and soft voice—was skilled enough in diplomacy to be a tremendous asset at any table, be it dinner table or boardroom table.
He watched her give an enthusiastic accounting of an abrupt, unromantic wedding she barely remembered and flavor it with the sort of details guaranteed to interest both sexes.
“We left the hotel in Cole’s limousine and went to the airport. Cole’s plane is a Gulfstream, Grandpa, and much larger than a little Learjet. You could add it to the model airplane mobile you’ve designed for boys’ bedrooms. Anyway, there was a magnum of champagne in a cooler when we got on board, an
d one of the pilots was already in the cockpit doing—whatever pilots do before the plane takes off,” she said, dismissing the preflight ritual with a wave of her graceful fingertips. “A few minutes later, the other pilot, whose name is Jerry Wade, arrived. Oh, and, Gram—” she added, turning to include that lady in the conversation, who had been frowning intently at Cole until then, “in the dark, he’s a dead ringer for your favorite movie star! I told him he has to drop by and visit you some evening.”
Fascinated by the way that remark pulled Rose Britton’s attention away from him, Cole waited to discover who her favorite movie star was. “He does! Really?” Grandma said with a mixture of doubt and delight. “He looks like Clint Eastwood?”