Shannon's Daughter (14 page)

Chapter Twelve

Measurements
taken and her dress ordered
,
they stepped out of the
shop to find Simon standing at attention next to the car.
 
Peg passed him the velvet box with a smile.
 
“Here, you can take this home to Adamson with
the assurance that we haven’t replaced it with a fake.
 
And now I want to get some lunch.
 
The Plaza, I think, Simon, and then we won’t
need you for the rest of the afternoon.”

“The
Plaza?”
 
Kendall slid in next to her, aware that she
had again left him very little room.

“Yes.
 
I said I wanted to show you off.
 
The Palm Court should do the trick.”

“Are
you sure I’m dressed appropriately?
 
I
don’t want to embarrass you.”

She
turned appraising eyes on him, her brows drawn together in a scowl.
 
“Um.
 
No, I think you’ll do.
 
A necktie isn’t required at lunch.”

Reaching
in the breast pocket of his jacket, he drew out a long silk scarf and wound it
inside his collar, tying it in a loose knot.
 
“I keep this for emergencies.
 
Keeps me from feeling quite so naked.
 
How’s that?”

“Perfect.
 
Very, very British I’d say and definitely
yummy.
 
Here, let me.”
 
Reaching up, she tucked the ends of the scarf
more securely in the open shirt front, her cool fingers grazing his skin.
 
“There.
 
You don’t by any chance smoke a pipe do you?”
 
Her face was inches from his, so close he
felt her breath on his face.
 
For an
instant he grasped her hand as she withdrew it from his collar.
 
Her eyes widened slightly before falling to
stare at his fingers wrapped around hers.

“What?
 
No, sorry.
 
Never tried one.”
 
Gently, he tucked her hand in the bend of his
arm with an avuncular pat.
 
“Question.”

“Yes?”

“Why
did you choose to have Miss Devon create this very special dress?
 
I’d have thought a girl like you wore only
haute couture
.”
 
It was a question he’d meant to ask earlier,
and he was grateful that his addled brain produced it now.

“Oh,
no.
 
I mean I have some of that.
 
But Dad likes to patronize people with a
reputation for good craftsmanship, if not especially well-known.
 
Miss Devon comes highly recommended by the
wife of one of our board members.”
 
Wrapping
her fingers more securely around his bicep, she added, “What do you mean ‘a
girl like me’?”

“Oh,
you know, wealthy, privileged, moving in only the best society.
 
An American princess.”
 
His tone was warmer than he’d intended,
bordering on affectionate.
 
If Peg
noticed, she didn’t let on.

“Oh.
 
Well, that’s fair, I guess.
 
But I buy most of my clothes off the
rack.
 
And that necklace is the first
really expensive piece of jewelry I’ve ever had.
 
Well, there are my pearls, but I don’t think
they look as valuable as they are.
 
I
don’t go around with a tiara in my hair, or even sleep in silk pajamas, you
know.”

How she
had leapt from jewelry to sleepwear, he had no idea.
 
“Ah, well that is good to know.
 
Now tell me about this restaurant.
 
Another of your favorites?”

“The
Palm Court is everybody’s favorite, if they want to see and be seen.
 
We’re almost there.
 
Surely you’ve heard of the Plaza Hotel?”

If he
had, it was only as the kind of place he’d never have access to.
 
“Of course.
 
I just never expected to have lunch
there.
 
You’re spoiling me, Peg.”

“Good.
 
Now just stick with me and let’s see who we
can be seen by in here.”

They
crossed the lobby to the broad entrance of the aptly named restaurant.
 
Glancing up from his podium, the maître d’ recognized
Peg on sight, his fleshy face spreading into an instant and slightly agonized smile.
 
“Miss Shannon!
 
We weren’t expecting you today!”
 
He waved in the direction of a line of
well-dressed patrons awaiting their tables.

“I
know, Max, but my cousin is visiting from London and I felt he just had to experience
Saturday lunch at the Palm Court.
 
Can
you find us a table where I can show him off a little bit?
 
Please?”
 
Peg had crossed her hands on the edge of the podium, gifting Max with an
imploring gaze the poor man was no match for.
 
After a moment of blinking down at her, Max flicked his wrist, prompting
the appearance of a pair of liveried waiters.
 
A discreet word in the ears of his minions and he turned back to Peg
with a blinding smile.
 

“If you
don’t mind waiting just a minute or two, I think I can find something,
for you
.”
 
Where Miss Devon had merely gushed, Max was
practically drooling obsequiousness all over his morning coat.
 
When he dragged his eyes from Peg to give him
an appraising up and down, Kendall sensed that here was another who would
search him and find him wanting.
 

“Max,
this is Kendall Gregg, my cousin.
 
That’s
two l’s and two g’s, by the way.”
 
Max
immediately took up his pen to make a notation on the reservation sheet.
 

Barely
a minute later
they were
led ceremoniously to a
fountain-side table in the center of the room.
 
A waiter skidded into place, summoned by another flick of the wrist from
Max. “Will you be having your usual, Miss Shannon, or would you like to see a
menu today?”

“I’ll
have the usual to drink, please, but bring us a couple of menus.
 
My cousin’s never eaten here, you see.
 
This is his first visit to New York.
 
What would you like to drink, Kendall?
 
They can mix anything you want, or I’m sure
they have
a good
single malt on hand.”

“Dare I
risk your ‘usual’?”
 
He tried not to
crane his neck for a better look at the spectacular stained glass ceiling
overhead.

“I’m
just having a strawberry daiquiri, minus the rum, of course.”

“That
sounds fine.
 
I’ll have the same, thank
you.”
 

“With
or without the rum, sir?”

“Without.
 
Best to keep a clear head around this young lady, you know.”
 

The man
actually bowed.
 
“Very
good.”

“Oh,
and I’ll need a telephone, please.”
 
Peg
had turned her attention to the crowded room, candidly scanning for familiar
faces, Kendall assumed.
 
The waiter
evaporated with another bow.

“Was it
my imagination, or did I just see them physically
moving
this table here for you?”
 

Eyes
shimmering in an otherwise straight face, she asked, “Did they?
 
I didn’t notice.”

“You
must have known when you staged that little performance that poor Max would
move heaven and earth to accommodate you?
 
Or is he accustomed to your showing up without a reservation and
expecting the best spot in the house?
 
And why on earth would he need to know how I spell my name?”

“Really
Kendall, that’s a lot of questions!
 
But
yes, I knew Max would do his best for us, even without a reservation.
 
As to the spelling, I wanted to be sure they
get your name right in the newspaper, that’s all.”

“Newspaper?”
 
His hiss was louder than he’d intended, but thankfully covered by the
string trio situated beneath the arch of towering palms.

“Of
course.
 
That’s why I asked to be seated here.
 
There’s always a photographer in places like
this prowling around taking shots for the social pages.
 
I’m sure they keep a space open with the
caption all ready.
 
You know, ‘Miss Anna
Margaret Shannon, daughter of millionaire banker and philanthropist Michael
Shannon, lunching at fill-in-the-blank restaurant with fill-in-the-blank name.’
 
This time it will be ‘her cousin, Londoner
Kendall Gregg” or something along those lines.
 
Nothing scandalous, just the usual.”

“
Your
usual, perhaps, but hardly mine.”
 

The
waiter returned, reverently placing a telephone on the table and plugging it into
a jack in the floor nearby.
 
“Will there
be anything else, Miss Shannon?”

“No.
 
Thank you, Harold.
 
Is that Mrs. Smith in the corner over
there?”
 

The
waiter raised a conspiratorial brow.
 
“Mrs. Smith?
 
Why, yes, miss, I
believe it is.”

“Would
you mind giving her my regards and mentioning that I’d love for her to meet my
cousin?”

“Not at
all, miss.”
 
Another bow and he
disappeared into the palms.

“What
was all that about?”

“Oh, just
someone I’d like to introduce you to.
 
Look in the corner to your left.
 
See
the woman sitting there, with the little dog on the table?”
 
He glanced as casually as he could manage
over his shoulder.
 
The woman, dripping
in chiffon draperies and wearing enough pearl strands stacked around her neck
and wrists to open a jewelers’, was absorbed in feeding morsels from her plate
to an attentive Pomeranian.
 
He looked
back to Peg for further enlightenment.
 
“That’s Mrs. Charles Smith, also known as Natalia Romanov, a second cousin
of the last Czar.
 
Or so she tells
everyone.
 
She’s a wonderful character,
whoever she is.
 
I thought you might like
to meet some ‘real’ royalty.”
 
Picking up
the receiver, she began to dial.
 
“I
should check on Dad.”

He
tried not to eavesdrop on the conversation, apparently with Adamson, but it was
impossible to ignore her.
 
Her voice had
dropped to a tone of genuine concern, as she asked softly, “Is Dad
resting?
 
And did he remember to take his
pills?
 
All of them?”
 
Her lips twisted in a little pout.
 
“I know, but we have to keep nagging, don’t
we?
 
Just tell him when he gets up that
we’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner.”
 
When she rang off, Kendall watched her struggle to shake off her
obviously lowered mood.

“Everything
all right?”

“Fine.”
 
Head high, face composed, she met his eyes almost defiantly.
 
“I’m just afraid that Dad will overdo with
everyone here.
 
He forgets that he’s
supposed to be taking things easier now.”

“I’d
heard he hasn’t been well for the past year or so.
 
Something to do with his
heart?”

“Yes.
 
He really scared me.
 
Not a heart attack, it turned out, but a
problem with one of his valves.
 
He has
to take better care of himself, not something my father takes as seriously as I
do.
 
Thank goodness for Adamson.
 
He keeps an eagle eye on Dad, but of course
he always has.”

Their
drinks arrived, enormous creations sporting paper umbrellas and speared strawberries.
 
Peg took a delicate sip through her straw,
closing her eyes in appreciation.
 
“Try
it.
 
I’m sure the rum adds something, but
I love these.
 
Especially
on a hot day.”
 
He was about to
agree, after his first taste, when the waiter again sidled up to their
table.