Sailing to Capri (24 page)

“Of course I tell the truth!” I turned pink with indignation, and she laughed.

Just then Bordelaise swept in, blond fringe bouncing over her sparkling eyes. She had on a discreet cream pantsuit with about a dozen pearl necklaces, and Brandon van Zelder was on her heels, movie-star handsome in a white dinner jacket.

“Dio mio,”
Filomena murmured, clutching a hand to her cleavage. “Who is this man?” And without waiting for an answer, she slipped off the barstool and headed his way.

“You’re looking gorgeous,” I said to Bordelaise.

“You’re not so bad yourself—when you make the effort,” she retorted, and we grinned at each other.

Montana was now at the other end of the bar, talking to Dopplemann. He wiggled his eyebrows at me to come join them. Unable to bring myself to smile at Dopplemann, I said a stiff good evening and that I hoped he was enjoying his wine.

“Please, call me Marius,” he said, in his quiet, hissing voice. “And this is a very good wine, an Haut-Brion. It never fails to amaze me that such a perfect wine comes from a mere four acres in the middle of a rather shabby suburb of Bordeaux. I learned much of what I know about good wines from Bob, Miss Keane. He was a good teacher in the finer things of life,” he added.

Astonished that he had said so much, I managed a smile and Montana gave my hand an encouraging squeeze. Then Charlie Clement showed up.

He prowled over to the bar, leaning against it, one hand in his pocket as he ordered a double Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. He nodded a curt good evening at us.

“Evening, Clement,” Montana said, intent, I thought, on spreading goodwill to all tonight. In the background Melvyn had switched to Lennon and McCartney. “Let me introduce Marius Dopplemann,” Montana added.

Clement’s face registered surprise, then shock as he looked the little man up and down. “The scientist?” he asked, but Dopplemann looked away and did not answer.

Clement glanced inquiringly at Montana, but Montana merely signaled the waiter to bring more canapés. Dopplemann took a half dozen, then ate them so quickly I thought he must be really hungry. I drained my cosmo and contemplated a second. This was going to be a long night.

“Hiya all!” Ginny’s exuberant voice cut through the bar as she elbowed her way in, all done up in black pants, an off-the-shoulder black top, and stilettos, and with a bunch of dark feathers tucked into her yellow hair. Grinning, she slid onto the barstool next to Montana and ordered a gin and tonic on the rocks.

“I like my drinks classy, like my men,” she added with a naughty wink, inspecting Charlie Clement as she did so. “And who might you be then?” she demanded, unfazed by his sullen demeanor.

“Charles Clement,” he said stiffly, acknowledging her with the brief nod that seemed to be his customary greeting.

“And I’m Ginny Bunn. You a friend of Bob’s then?”

“Ex-friend.”

I thought he’d gotten right to the point.

Ginny was unfazed by his attitude. “Wait a minute, I remember you. You came to Sneadley a few times, to the Ram’s Head. I’m the barmaid there.” She tasted her gin and tonic and gave a nod of professional approval at the bartender. “I always remember faces,” she added, looking thoughtfully at Charlie. Then she suddenly shut up, her face closed. She turned away and began to talk to Montana.

I glanced around to see who else had shown up. Still no Diane, no Rosalia, no Davis Farrell.

I watched Dopplemann down another dozen or so hors d’oeuvres and took my second cosmo over to where Bordelaise was still talking with Texas.

“So what d’you think, girls?” I parked myself on the next barstool.

“I think it’s pretty good, especially since I don’t have to pay for it,” “Texas said in her southern twang. “I’m just a workin’ girl, y’know. I can’t afford trips on yachts.”

“You don’t have to work. You could get any guy you wanted, any guy in the South of France,” Bordelaise said. “Rich guys, I mean.”

Texas downed her vodka. “Not my style, honey. I’m the kind that falls for a man head over heels before I even find out if he’s rich or poor. So far, he’s always turned out poor.” She laughed. “Luck of the game, I guess.”

Texas was not at all the calculating chick I’d expected from her appearance; she seemed really nice. It was just that her looks misled you into thinking she’d be a man-eater. Thinking of men, I looked for Montana. He was still talking to Ginny. I
wondered if I would ever get over this jealousy thing for a man who only wanted to be buddies with me. A man who wanted me to keep him company so he wouldn’t be lonely, and so he could keep the bad guys of the world away from me.

I was wondering if this night would ever be over when the steward announced that dinner was about to be served.

The long table in the oval dining room looked beautiful. Blue-green hydrangeas were banked in low silver tubs down the center of the table, the wall sconces shed a perfect pinkish light, and candles flickered everywhere. Stewards waited to serve us, and champagne and wines cooled in crystal buckets.

Rosalia came in with Hector and Magdalena, followed by Reg Blunt. Only Diane and Davis Farrell were still missing.

Montana had planned the seating and everyone milled around peering at the place cards, looking to see who was next to them. Montana and I were at the head of the table, with Reg and Diane, who hurried in after us, at the other end. Next to Montana was Rosalia, then Charlie Clement, Ginny, and the empty chair for the missing Davis. Then came Filomena and Brandon. On Reg’s left was Texas, then Dopplemann, Bordelaise, Magdalena, and Hector. I thought it unfortunate
that we were a man short and had had to place two girls together, and also that poor Bordelaise had drawn Dopplemann.

Diane arrived and stood, posing in the doorway long enough for us all to notice her, the grieving widow in black chiffon. Her red hair was upswept, her long, smooth neck was wrapped in a thin strand of very sparkly diamonds, and she wore matching diamond earrings. I had to admit she looked lovely in a hard sort of way. Her face tightened though when she found she was seated next to Reg, who was already downing a bottle of Kronenbourg beer.

“Thought I’d be the last one to show up for dinner,” Reg said jovially to Diane, getting to his feet. “I was running in low gear after that plane journey. Haven’t flown much, y’know, and I’m not that good a traveler. Anyhow, not unless it’s in style, like this. This boat is grand, isn’t it?” He smiled at us. “Lady Hardwick’ll keep me company, won’t you, luv?” He gave Diane a friendly nudge. “We go back a bit, Lady Hardwick and me, y’know. Bob used to bring her up to Sneadley when they were still just courtin’. And that’s some time ago now, isn’t it, lass? A few years under the old bridge now, I’d say.”

Diane flinched, then proceeded to ignore him.

Waiters wafted napkins over our laps and poured pink champagne.
Amuses bouches,
as Bob liked to call them, were served. And still Davis Farrell had not joined us. I wondered worriedly if he’d opted out and decided to go home tomorrow.

Filomena was not missing Davis. She’d latched on to Brandon van Zelder in a torrent of Italian-accented English, speaking so softly he had to bend his head closer to hers, which of course was exactly what she’d intended.

Ginny did not look happy. She had turned pointedly away from Charlie and was staring forlornly at Davis’s empty seat. She had no one to talk to and heaven knows Ginny loved to talk. Sitting next to Dopplemann, Bordelaise rolled her eyes helplessly at me.

Across the table, Hector asked Charlie what he did for a living, which earned him a dismissive glance and the curt reply that he was in the entertainment business. Tension crackled like lightning and I wondered uneasily how we were going to make it through the next five days.

Davis Farrell finally arrived with the first course. He’d cleaned up a bit for dinner in a good jacket and an expensive blue shirt, and despite the ponytail suddenly looked every inch the successful Wall Street man. Apologizing, he explained that he’d had a phone call from New York that had to be dealt with right away. “They’re not used to me not being there,” he added.

“Who’s not?” Ginny asked as he took the seat next to her. She was surprised when he told her about the young immigrants who were his clients.

“Funny, I thought everybody here was going to be rich and successful,” she said.

“How do you know I’m not?”

She eyed him up and down. “The jacket’s okay. It’s the beard and the ponytail that give the wrong impression.”

Davis laughed, then he asked where she was from and they fell into a conversation about Sneadley and the Ram’s Head.

Bordelaise was giving it a good try with Dopplemann. “How was your flight, Herr Dopplemann?” I heard her say.

He glanced sideways at her and the light reflected strangely
off his thick lenses. “I found it adequate and fast, despite the great security that now prevails,” he said.

Bordelaise took a deep breath. He was hard going

Out of the blue Dopplemann said, “I like your hair, Fräulein Maguire. It is very blond, very”—he seemed to hunt for the word he wanted—“very
charming.”

Accepting his clumsy compliment, Bordelaise gave him her sunniest smile and told him to call her Bordelaise.

Rosalia was telling Charlie Clement about her hearing problem, saying she hoped he would excuse her if she didn’t grasp what he said right away. She spoke halting English and Charlie looked impatient, but then he seemed to have cultivated impatience, made it part of his persona as a means of putting other people on the defensive, forcing them to talk faster, act hurriedly. Not Rosalia, though. She asked what Charlie thought of the yacht, then went on to say how good it was of “Roberto” Hardwick to treat his old friends to such a wonderful cruise. Charlie harrumphed a bit and said vaguely he guessed so. And that was that.

Raising surprised eyebrows, Rosalia smiled across the table at Hector, asking him in Spanish how he was doing. He smoothed back his too-long hair, shined like spit-and-polished army boots, stroked his mustache, and said aloofly he was fine.

Obviously it was my turn to say something. “Hector, I’ve heard so much about the Finca de los Pastores and how beautiful it is. It must be wonderful living there.”

He inclined his head graciously. “Indeed, Señorita, I wouldn’t live anywhere else.”

“Oh please, call me Daisy,” I said, then drew him out until he began to tell me about the hotel.

Dinner was served, a lobster salad followed by individual beef Wellingtons. We’d ordered the kind of good old-fashioned food Bob would have enjoyed. Wines were poured, conversation stumbled on and the tension grew. There was cheese and salad and a half dozen desserts and with them we served a special champagne, Pol Roger’s Cuvée Winston Churchill.

Montana had barely spoken to me all night. Now he whispered it was time for the toast. Ringing his fork against a glass he asked for silence. “Daisy has something she wants to say to you all.”

He glanced expectantly up at me as I got to my feet. I had a little speech planned but I cleared my throat nervously, looking around the table at the guests.

“First I want to bid you welcome on Bob’s behalf. You know by now he chose you all specially, he wanted all of you together for a final celebration of his life. Actually, ‘I want them all to have a damned good time,’ was what he said. But there’s something else you might want to think about. He believed that by bringing you together you might take another look at how he personally affected your lives. If you did, he said you might surprise yourselves.”

They looked back at me. Charlie’s face was noncommittal and an ironic smile lifted one corner of Davis’s mouth. Diane looked angry, Filomena puzzled. Ignoring the champagne, Dopplemann continued to sip his Bordeaux, staring deep into his glass as though he might find an answer in there. Rosalia,
understanding from Montana what I had said, was the only one to comment.

“Roberto was always a wise man,” she said quietly.

“He was,” I agreed. “And now we’ll drink to him in Winston Churchill’s favorite champagne, which is why it was named after him. Churchill was also Bob’s hero, ‘A man amongst men,’ he called him, ‘a lion-heart.’ Bob wished he could be like him, and in so many ways—courage, integrity, strength—he was.” I lifted my glass. “So let us drink to Sir Robert Waldo Hardwick, a wise man and a good friend to us all.”

“Here, here.” Reg was the first to raise his glass, followed by sullen murmurs of “To Bob.”

Diane’s face had closed into a mask. Now she glared at Filomena. “The Italian should not be here. She’s nothing but a whore.”

“Dio mio.”
Filomena was on her feet. “How
dare
you call me
that!
Bob left you because you were such a bitch and now I see it’s true. Bob told me himself that you didn’t deserve his name and that I did. It was
me
he loved, not you … I was the one who made him happy.”

An embarrassed silence fell. Around us the stewards began to clear the dishes.

“We’ll see how much he cared when the will is read,” Diane hissed back. “Then you’ll find where old mistresses end up. In the garbage can. Don’t forget
I was his wife—
”