Part 9 (2/2)

She felt a flutter of antic.i.p.ation, the kind she'd felt the first time he'd undone her pearl b.u.t.tons and f.u.c.ked her in his dining room.

Would he take her call? Would he dismiss senators or congressmen or whoever was in his office ”occupying” him?

A lump of trepidation found its way into her throat. What if he was with another woman?

She laughed. Remy barely had time for her. He'd never have time for a harem.

Still, Elinor clutched the phone more tightly than necessary.

”Elinor?” She heard Remy's voice, just as another voice came from the doorway of the music room.

”Mom?” It was Jonas.

Elinor smiled at her son and quickly flipped the phone shut. ”h.e.l.lo, dear,” she said, standing and dropping the phone into her purse. ”I was confirming floral arrangements for the party. The details can be such a bore.”

”Mom,” he said, ”we need to talk.”

”I swear Betts asked me to handle the flowers because she thinks I have your dad's talent for that kind of thing.”

”Mom...”

And then her phone rang in her purse. Remy, of course, would be calling back. She slung her purse over her shoulder. ”Not now, honey,” she said, striding across the room toward the terrace, hoping she'd get outside before the d.a.m.n phone stopped ringing.

”Is this Elinor Young?” It was a male's voice, but not Remy's.

”Yes,” she replied. Perspiration had formed on her upper lip; she tried to steady her voice. It must be Remy's driver on the other end of the line.

”Do you have the cash?”

The late-day sun radiated off the water lily pond that served as a centerpiece for the topiaries. Elinor was blinded, paralyzed. Finally, she blinked. ”What?”

”The cash. The half million. Do you have it?”

Her throat felt as if Mac was standing on it, wearing the big boots that he wore when he planted trees in the garden. ”I will,” she said. ”By Friday.”

”Good,” he said, then hung up without leaving instructions.

Elinor shut off the phone, dropped onto a chaise, and stared helplessly, hopelessly at the trees.

”Mom?” came Jonas's voice again. ”Please, Mom. We really do need to talk.”

Eighteen.

”It's a b.l.o.o.d.y size sixteen,” Alice wailed into the phone at Poppy. Neal wasn't home again, so Alice had poured a generous gla.s.s of wine and decided to rehea.r.s.e the role that Poppy had convinced her to play tomorrow. It would be more fun than making dinner for one. But despite the slight menopausal spread of her hips, the dress hung on her frame like a discount-store window drape. ”I know I'm bigger than the rest of you, but I'm a ten, Poppy. Not a sixteen.”

Poppy sighed. ”I bet Yolanda can help. She's domestic, isn't she?”

”Just because she cleans her own house and cooks her own meals I don't think that automatically means she knows how to sew.”

”I bet she does,” Poppy repeated. ”Let's bring it over to her place.”

”I'll pick you up in thirty minutes.” Alice didn't ask if Duane was home. Long ago, the women had stopped asking about each other's husbands. They'd learned life was less dramatic that way, Elinor's current situation serving as a clear case in point.

Poppy changed from the demure summer suit she'd worn to the Lord Winslow into chocolate-colored jeans, high-heeled sandals, and a clingy turquoise top. If she had to go to Yolanda's, she might as well look as good as she could.

”Well,” said Duane, ”don't you look like a hottie.”

Poppy responded with a tiny smile, because she knew how well the jeans hugged her round little a.s.s.

”Come here,” Duane said. ”I want to have my way with you.” He had that twinkle in his eye that she hadn't seen for a while, not since he'd started taking pictures after dark. Was it because he, indeed, was Elinor's lover and/or blackmailer and the danger totally turned him on?

”I'd love to, but Alice is picking me up. We're on a mission for poor Elinor. There's an engagement party in Was.h.i.+ngton this weekend and she's frantic right now.” He didn't seem to wince when she mentioned Elinor's name.

”There's an engagement party and we're not invited?”

”It's only for Was.h.i.+ngton people, Duane. You know how they are.” Well, of course he didn't, but that didn't matter.

He patted the sofa cus.h.i.+on next to him. ”Five minutes,” he said, then added, ”please?”

Saying no might get her in trouble. Poppy checked her watch. She supposed five minutes would satisfy his unex pected need. Besides, if he really was involved in this muddle, Poppy didn't want him to think they were onto him and give him time to come up with a lie.

And, she supposed, a little s.e.x wouldn't hurt Poppy, either, in case Manny showed up at Yolanda's. There was something about Manny's eyes, his smile, and his s.h.i.+ny gold badge...

When Poppy was a girl, Momma had told her it was always wise to m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e before a date. She hadn't, of course, used that word. But she'd given Poppy a pretty little pink d.i.l.d.o, and told her to use it in her ”special place” so she wouldn't be tempted to give in to her she-devil and let the boy do things she'd regret.

Duane wasn't a pink d.i.l.d.o, and Manny wasn't a teenager, but if Poppy had learned anything in life, it was that Momma usually was right.

All things considered, she should unzip her jeans, go to her husband, and let him have his way so Yolanda's brother would not.

But Poppy was Poppy, and if there was one thing she was no good at, it was pretending to love when she was no longer sure she did. She'd learned that with husbands number one and number two.

”Sorry,” she said with an apologetic smile. ”But we're already late.”

”You're being blackmailed,” Jonas said. ”Don't lie, I saw the note.”

Elinor blinked again. ”What?” Her thoughts reeled. She couldn't gather a response.

”I read the note. About the panties.”

Well, she could have died right there on the chaise; in fact, dying would have been preferable to having this discussion with her grown-up son.

Instead of dying, Elinor laughed. Would Jonas dare challenge her if she laughed?

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