Born to Be Wild (30 page)

Oh, dear!
“Have the police done anything about it?” Lauren asked, as Shirley finished the last speck of Lauren’s inner thighs.

“Mrs. Rutherford called them buffoons, said they weren’t terribly concerned about her fifty-four-carat aquamarine and diamond pendant. Apparently they told her to report it to her insurance company.”

“That’s it? No investigation?”

“Well, she did say that there’d been some rather odd people catering Betsy Endicott’s wedding. That’s what I was saying, about her going on and on about
those
people from West Palm Beach. Obviously she didn’t realize that
I
live in West Palm Beach. Then again, maybe she didn’t care that she offended me. Anyway, she said she told the police that any one of
those
people could have been responsible.”

“She didn’t?”

“I’m afraid she did. She also said, if I’m not mistaken, that the police went to your house and talked to your butler.”

“They did?”

“I believe that’s what she said, but why wouldn’t you know anything about that if it was true?”

That was a question Lauren was dying to get an answer to as well.

oOo

Lauren found Charles sitting at the kitchen table with Mrs. Fisk, listening to one of the cook’s tales about her escapades on the beach in Tahiti. “He was absolutely gorgeous, Charles. Simply stunning, and he made t
he most delicious mai tai. Rose, you remember her, my friend from Miami? Well, Rose thinks the bartender must have been gay, but I don’t care. I could have sat at that bar on the beach and stared at him all day long.”

Lauren cleared her throat “Excuse me for interrupting.”

“Oh, don’t worry at all about that, Miss Remington,” Mrs. Fisk chortled, waving a freshly baked cookie in the air in front of her. “I was just telling Charles about the bartender I met in Tahiti. Why, if I was twenty-five again instead of sixty-three, I would have scooped that young man up in a moment—gay or not.”

“I’m glad you had such a lovely time.”

“It was wonderful, thank you.” Mrs. Fisk took a bite of cookie. “By the way, I’ve decided on the entree for tonight. A new dish that a friend of mine has raved about—asparagus cannelloni with chanterelles. And Charles brought a lovely ’96 Chateau St. Jean Chardonnay up from the cellar.”

“I’m sure the dinner will be perfect, as always,” Lauren said, although dinner was the last thing on her mind at the moment. She was far more concerned about the accusations being aimed at Max and his friends.

She turned her eyes on her butler. “Could I see you a moment, Charles?”

“Of course.”

He followed her to the conservatory, where Lauren paced from one end to the other, several times, before Charles asked, “Is something troubling you, Miss Remington?”

She stopped, folded her hands behind her lemon chiffon halter dress, and hit him with a frown. “Were the police here recently?”

Charles’s gaze darted toward the pink marble floor. “Why, yes, I do believe they were here while you were in New York.”

“Mind if I ask why?”

“They had a few questions about the possible theft of some jewelry during Betsy Endicott’s wedding.”

“I see.” She paced again, hating the fact that Charles was so secretive. “And were you able to help them?”

“I was able to tell them nothing,” he said flatly, as if he’d been annoyed that the police had even come around. “I told them I did not see anything out of the ordinary during the wedding or reception. I told them that I did not see any suspicious-looking characters, nor did I see anyone wandering around the house as if they were looking for something to steal.”

“Did they ask you about anyone specific?”

His white brows knit together. “They asked about Mr. Wilde and I told them that neither you nor I had any reason whatsoever to suspect Mr. Wilde of being anything but a gracious and admirable chef. When they asked about his assistants, I also put in a good word for them. And then I advised them that one of the assistants was a vice cop.”

Lauren smiled as relief flooded through her. “Thank you, Charles.”

“You’re quite welcome. I might also mention that I informed the officers that there were nearly two hundred guests here during Miss Endicott’s wedding to Mr. Stribling, and that I would gladly give them a list of names, addresses, and phone numbers, because any one of those guests—rich or not—could have absconded with the jewels. I also mentioned that Mrs. Endicott and Mrs. Rutherford had made a point of showing their baubles off to everyone in attendance.”

“You might have gone a little far with that last statement,” Lauren said, even though she’d watched Holly showing off her latest acquisitions and Bunny had definitely displayed her
baubles.

“Be that as it may,” Charles added in his defense, “I felt their actions needed to be addressed.”

“May I ask you one other question, Charles?”

“By all means.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”

“I felt I could dispel all rumors and I didn’t see the need to worry you.”

“I appreciate that, but in the future, would you let me know so I don’t hear these tales from the woman waxing my legs.”

He folded his hands behind his back. “Very well.”

“One other thing,” Lauren said, walking across the room and staring Charles right in the eye.

“Yes?”

She slipped her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his. “I just wanted you to know that I love you, that I always have, and always will.”

Lauren felt a little of the stiffness drain from Charles, felt one of his hands pat her gently on the back. “The feeling is mutual,” he said, clearing his throat as he pulled from her embrace. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll call Mr. Friedrichs and have him deliver a special centerpiece for tonight’s dinner. Is there anything else you’d like?”

It was Lauren’s turn to gaze down at the marble floor. She cleared her throat. “If it’s not any trouble, could you put a bottle of Dom Perignon in my room during dinner tonight.”

A hint of pink touched Charles’s cheeks. “I believe I could do that. Might I also suggest dark chocolate Godivas. I picked up a box for myself just this morning and they haven’t been touched. They might go quite well with champagne.”

Lauren smiled, thinking they might go quite well with Max Wilde, too. She’d always enjoyed chocolate topping on her desserts. “You do think of everything, don’t you, Charles?”

“I do my best.”

“And I’m extremely grateful.”

“I’ll remind you of that when Christmas rolls
around,” he said with a grin, then strolled out of the room without giving Lauren a second look.

oOo

With thoughts of stolen jewelry pushed from her mind, Lauren pulled her address book from her desk and scanned the names, looking for friends who’d recently announced their engagement.

She’d had fun planning Holly Rutherford’s wedding and it had been a huge success except for the accident with the cake. And even though Henri had died and Betsy’s wedding had almost fallen apart, Max had come to the rescue and the affair had turned out perfect.

Now that life was looking bright, it was time to drum up a little more business.

Paige Carlyle, the daughter of one of her mother’s oldest and dearest friends, was first on her list.

“How are you?” Lauren asked, once the preliminary salutations were out of the way.

“I couldn’t be more wonderful,” Paige exclaimed. “Jeffrey and I just purchased a home in Newport. We’re having it completely refurbished. Lillian Spradling, the decorator who did my parents’ home in the Vineyard, is selecting all the furniture and art.”

“It sounds lovely,” Lauren said.

“It’s going to be. Of course, it’s nearly a yearlong project, but Lillian’s promised we’ll be able to move into it right after our wedding and honeymoon next spring.”

“You’ve set a date then?”

“February twelfth. Less than a year away.”

“Goodness, the year will fly by with so much to do, selecting a place for the wedding and reception, finding the right dress, the perfect invitations. It amazes me sometimes how many details there are.”

“I know what you’re leading up to,” Paige said, the disdainful tone of her voice taking Lauren by surprise. “I know you mean well, Lauren, but I need a professional planning my wedding. Too many things tend to go wrong when you’re in charge.”

“If you’re referring to that silly cake incident?”

“Of course I’m referring to that. It was an utter disaster, and then there was the caterer you hired for Betsy’s wedding.”

“The food was delicious.”

“Yes, that’s true, but there’s much more involved with catering than good food.”

As if Paige Carlyle had any idea what was involved with anything!

“Betsy’s a dear,” Paige went on, “and I know she’d never say anything, but I’m sure she was absolutely mortified when she caught a glimpse of the waiters and found out that their normal routine is serving barbecues and luaus.”

“I appreciate your opinion,” Lauren said graciously, biting back her hurt. “If you’d like, I could recommend another planner.”

“We already have several in mind and I’ll be interviewing them soon.”

“Well, I know you’re busy and I don’t want to take any more of your time,” Lauren said. “If there’s anything I can do to help—”

“Yes, I’ll keep your offer in mind,” Paige said. “I have to run now. Goodbye.”

Lauren listened to the dial tone then glared at the phone. “I hope your cake falls in the pool, too!” she snapped.

She paced across the room, waiting for her anger to subside, then went back to the phone and punched in another phone number. She was not going to let an imperialistic snoot like Paige Carlyle get her down.

Blaine Whitfield, an old friend from Lauren’s finishing school days, was much more congenial, but she hit her with a similar line. “Sorry, Lauren. Your weddings don’t quite live up to our social status.”

Kitty Burke was in tears when she answered the phone, having broken her engagement early that morning when she found her husband-to-be in the arms of another man.

And Suzie Frost, who’d once dated Chip and Leland and had had grand hopes of marrying one of them, was bitingly honest. “Your friends are laughing at you behind your back. Be careful, Lauren, or someday you’ll look at your social calendar and find it’s empty.”

The names in the address book suddenly became one big blur as tears filled Lauren’s eyes. As hard as she’d tried to plan the perfect wedding, as much as she’d wanted to succeed in business, she’d failed... again.

M
ax was Lauren’s salvation.

Only Max could take her mind off her troubles, and he did it with so little effort. A simple smile, the twitch of his mustache, and, of course, there was always his touch, which never failed to make her quiver inside.

The subject of her latest failure would not come up tonight. Tomorrow she might share her fears, but this evening she wanted to share something completely different—the passion that they felt for each other.

Taking one last look at herself in the hallway mirror, she assessed the sinfulness of her red silk dress. It plunged low in the front and even though the hem stopped well below her calves,
the left side was slit nearly to her hip. She wore nothing under it but a skimpy red silk bra and even skimpier silk thong, and her only accessories were a pair of dangly ruby and diamond earrings, which set off her slicked-back hairdo, and her red-beaded Manolo Blahnik heels.

She needed nothing more to complete her new look—except Max.

She was halfway down the circular stairs when she saw him, a stunning sight in his black leather jacket, a white button-down shirt, black slacks, and a killer smile.

Later tonight, that smile would be the only thing she’d allow him to wear! And goodness, all her troubles would definitely fly out the door.

“Good evening,” she said, taking the hand he held out to her and letting him pull her into his arms, the place she’d longed to be since she’d left him at three
a.m.