Part 34 (1/2)
”Keep in touch,” Wohl said. ”Have a nice dinner.”
He hung up.
Matt found the Reynolds house, following Mrs. Reynolds's instructions, with little trouble. She had neglected to tell him it wasn't visible from the street, and it took him two trips down Schuler Avenue before his headlights picked up a sign by a driveway reading ”Reynolds.”
The house, when he'd driven several hundred yards up a macadam drive through a wooded area to it, was a large brick colonial with a house-wide verandah. It looked, however, Matt thought, more like the house of an a.s.sistant vice president of Nesfoods International than a house one would expect the chairman of the board, president, and chief executive officer of a Fortune 500 company to own.
As he stopped the Plymouth, two large bra.s.s fixtures on either side of the double front door went on, and just as he got close to the door, it was opened.
”Good evening, sir,” the butler-a middle-aged man wearing a gray cotton jacket-greeted him.
”Good evening,” Matt replied. ”My name is Payne.”
”Yes, sir, you're expected,” the butler said. ”This way, please, sir.”
The house was larger inside than it had appeared from the outside. The entrance foyer was large, and stairways on either side of it rose to a second-floor balcony.
The butler led him to a set of double doors under the balcony and opened one of them.
”Mr. Payne, sir,” he announced, and waved Matt inside.
Inside looked like a combination living room and library. Three of the walls held ceiling-high bookcases. The fourth was a wall of sliding gla.s.s doors opening onto a patio. Beyond the patio was a lawn stretching down to what Matt supposed was the Susquehanna River.
A stocky, blond-haired man in his fifties, in a well-tailored double-breasted nearly black suit, rose from what looked like his his chair and advanced on Matt with his hand extended. chair and advanced on Matt with his hand extended.
”Matt Payne, I presume?”
”Yes, sir.”
”Did you see the movie?”
”Sir?”
” 'Guess Who's Coming to Dinner'?”
”Let me clear the air,” Matt said. ”All I want is a free meal.”
Thomas Reynolds laughed.
”Is taking a little nip among your vices?”
”Among my lesser vices, yes, sir.”
”I was about to make myself another,” Reynolds said, taking Matt's arm and leading him to a sideboard laid out with bottles and c.o.c.ktail-hour impedimenta. ”What's your pleasure?”
”A little of that Famous Grouse would go down nicely, thank you.”
”The same family's been making that stuff for six generations. Did you know that?”
”No, sir.”
”I've been drinking it since college,” Reynolds said as he poured.
”So has my father,” Matt said. ”That's why I drink it, I suppose.”
Reynolds handed Matt a gla.s.s.
”There's ice and water and soda,” he said.
”A little water, please,” Matt said.
When that was done, Reynolds tapped his gla.s.s against Matt's.
”Welcome,” he said.
”Thank you.”
”I admire your courage.”
”Excuse me?”
”Didn't Susie tell you her mother is furious?”
”Oh. Well, my conscience is clear. I wasn't the one supposed to call home.”
”And here she is!” Reynolds cried.
Mrs. Thomas Reynolds, who looked, in her simple black dress and single strand of pearls, as if she had been cast from the same mold as Mrs. Soames T. Browne, Daffy's mother, came into the room from a side door.
”Here he is, Grace,” Reynolds said. ”His horns are apparently retracted, so be nice to him.”
”You're a wicked young man,” Grace Reynolds said.
”My mother doesn't think so,” Matt said.
”And a smarty-pants to boot!”
”Grace, leave him alone!” Thomas Reynolds ordered.
”I'm only kidding, and he knows it.”
”Yes, ma'am.”
”But whatever were you thinking about, keeping her out until all hours?”
”Well, we got pretty tied up in conversation,” Matt said. ”I don't often meet girls with such an intimate knowledge of hog belly futures. Time just flew!”
”Susan doesn't know-” she began to protest, in confusion.