Bad Blood (18 page)

“He looks deliriously happy, darling. It’s either the three-hundred-fifty-pound thresher shark the guys caught today or he really does want to get hitched. You ready to make this legal?” I picked up the leatherbound folder that held my remarks. The certificate from the secretary of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts authorizing me to solemnize the marriage was on top.

Nina and I looked each other over, head to toe, as we had done scores of times before we’d set out on the town together.

She put her arms on my shoulders and squared off in front of me. “Are you sure you can do this?” she asked.

When Adam’s car had crashed on the way to the Vineyard, it was Nina who had had to break the news of his death to me. This very hilltop that was supposed to be the site of our own wedding represented for a time my greatest heartbreak. Now it would be invested with new joy.

“Don’t ever forget him, will you?”

“Not a prayer.”

“Then this is the perfect thing to do for Joan and Jim. Thanks for asking.”

“You’re mush under all that tough stuff you put on in court,” Nina said as Joan came back to us for a second look. “Here comes the bride. Okay, you’re ravishing this time. Good-bye, Ms. Stafford, and hello, Mrs. Hageville. See you shortly.”

We could hear the music playing. It was my turn to give the bride a last prenuptial hug and walk out to the tent. Jim offered his hand and I stepped up on the platform, happy to see that so many of our friends had made the trip to my island paradise to witness the happy occasion.

I scanned the rows of guests as everyone turned to follow the bride’s procession toward the makeshift altar. Nina winked at me, and I noticed a man I’d never seen before leaning down to whisper something in her ear. Joan and Jim broke into irrepressible smiles as they locked eyes and she glided into place by his side.

“Dearly beloved, we have come together here today, on this magical island — on a perfect June evening — to celebrate the marriage of Joan and Jim.

“How fitting it is that the Vineyard is the place you chose to formalize your union. The first trip you took together was to this island, finding pleasure in its glorious natural setting, finding sustenance in the magnificent waters that encircle its shores.”

I had written a short service for them, after which I was ready to take the bride and groom through the classic vows — simple words that belied the profound commitment they represent.

“…as I ask you, Jim, do you take Joan to be your wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward — for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, so long as you both shall live?”

His strong basso voice resonated throughout the tent when he said, “I do.”

Now all the ladies’ tissues came out. Joan affirmed her vows as rings were exchanged and I ended the short ceremony. “It gives me great pleasure, by virtue of
whatever
authority is vested in me by the laws of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, to now pronounce you man and wife. Jim, you may kiss the bride.”

The devoted friends were all on their feet applauding the long embrace and the recessional, before moving to the two larger tents that had been set up, one for a seated dinner and the other for dancing.

Champagne corks popped as waiters filled our glasses and Jim made a toast to his dazzling bride. Nina snaked her way to me after greeting old friends and stopping to chat with Mrs. Stafford.

“Add this talent to your résumé, Alex. You did just fine.”

“I’ll pass on that, but thanks,” I said, touching my flute against hers. “It’s even more nerve-racking than giving an opening argument. I kept waiting for someone to stand up in the tent and object.”

“Mrs. Stafford almost did. She can’t bear the thought of Joan living in Washington.”

“Neither can I. Now, who’s your new best friend, darling? You were tête-à-tête through the whole ceremony.”

“The poor guy didn’t know anybody, so I was pointing out all the players. I never got his name, but he said he goes way back with Jim. Catch your eye, did he? I didn’t think he was your type.”

“What would that be?”

“Aloof. Unavailable. Self-centered. Any or all of the above. Who did the seating for dinner? Maybe I can play around with the place cards,” Nina said. “His looks are so uneven, aren’t they? Makes it more interesting.”

“Don’t mess with Joan’s tables. It’s all very carefully calculated.”

I could see Jim’s friend just a few feet away, conversing with two other journalists I’d met last night. Nina was right about his features. One wouldn’t describe him as classically handsome — a slim, chiseled face with what my mother called a Roman nose, long and straight, and wire-rimmed glasses that shaded his blue-gray eyes. But he exuded a strong, attractive presence, and I blushed when he turned and caught me staring at him.

“How old do you think he is?” Nina asked.

“Who?”

“The guy in your sights.”

“Sorry. I was just daydreaming — nothing serious. Maybe forty-five or so.”

“A mature man would be such a good change for you. Better mingle, Alex. Here comes Mrs. S.”

“That was such a sweet thing for you to do,” Joan’s mother said as she approached me to introduce a gaggle of relatives. “You’ve absolutely got to be the next to go. Aren’t your parents frantic that you’re still single?”

“I figure they’ve just given up on me.”

“Married to her job,” she said to the others. “That’s what I always say about Miss Alexandra.”

I circulated among our friends and guests for more than an hour, until the sun slipped behind the Aquinnah ridge and the groom asked us all to be seated.

“You’re with us,” Joan said, looping her arm through mine and walking me to the table, to the seat next to Jim. “We’ll never be able to thank you enough for doing this. I’m delirious, and everyone else seems to be having a great time.”

“Congratulations. I hope I’m gaining a husband and not losing one of my best friends.”

“That’s a deal,” Jim said. “Have you two met yet?”

I turned to find his friend standing behind me. “No. No, we haven’t. I’m Alex. Alexandra Cooper.”

He gave me a crooked smile — sexy and warm — and set his glass down on the table before reaching for my hand. “Luc. Luc Rouget. Joan tells me you’ve graciously agreed to put a roof over my head tonight. I’m very grateful.”

“I know how pleased they must be to have you here,” I said as he pulled out my chair and waited for me to sit down. “I’m delighted to do it. When did you get to the island?”

The French accent was an added starter. “About an hour before the ceremony.”

“From?”

“A very long trip, actually. My home is in Mougins — the south of France. Do you know it?”

“The Côte d’Azur. I’ve only been there once. It’s quite beautiful.”

“Then you must come again. I shall have to repay your hospitality.”

The seating plan was no accident. Joan’s playfulness amused me. “And you’ve traveled all this way for the wedding?”

The waiter refilled our glasses as Luc leaned in to talk to me. “It was a perfect opportunity for me to get some business done in New York this week. Jim and I go back twenty years — when he was assigned to the Paris bureau of the
Washington Post
. I didn’t want to miss this affair.”

Nina was standing behind the waiter, trying to get to her seat to Luc’s left. He rose to greet her again as she bent over and tried to whisper discreetly in my ear.

“I’ve got a little more intelligence on your houseguest. Add three years, an ex-wife — but really ex — and two kids,” she said. “And he’s G.U.”

The translation meant that Luc was forty-eight and divorced, but geographically undesirable.

“Were you in on this plan?”

“Totally Joan. There’s an ocean and an Alpine mountain range between the two of you. I haven’t lost my mind completely,” Nina said, straightening up and handing the handkerchief she had borrowed from Luc during the ceremony back to him. “Thanks for the loan. I know you’re Luc. I’m Nina Baum.”

“Enchanté,”
he said, kissing her outstretched hand. “Without you, I wouldn’t have had any idea who all these people are. You and Alexandra are the only two I got a full advance briefing on.”

“You did?” Nina asked.

“Well, Jim told me that your husband couldn’t make the trip, so I’m to be certain that your glass is always full and to expect that you’ll need a dance partner from time to time,” Luc said, as expressive with his hands as he was with his eyes. “And I’m afraid I have to admit, Alex, that Joan had planned to introduce us a few months ago, when I was in the city. I think you — how shall I say? You protested, is that right?”

Joan had urged me to accept a setup with a guy whom she had befriended after one of her readings. I remembered it was for a Valentine’s Day museum benefit. “So you’re the writer, then?”

“No, no,” he said, shaking a finger. “After him. Joan told me about him. She said she couldn’t move you even to have that dinner. I think she decided to try a little — well, foreign intrigue. You were investigating a murder at the time. Some terrible thing at Lincoln Center, and it seemed rather foolish to try to take you away from that. Did you get your man?”

“I wish I could say she always does.”

“Yes, the police solved it.”

“So what kind of business are you in?” Nina wasn’t the least bit subtle in trying to get Luc’s pedigree.

“I own a restaurant. In Mougins. I do some consulting in Paris and New York. That’s why I’m here so often.”

“So, you wear the toque and the white jacket and sprinkle pepper in the pot and go
‘Bam!’
?” Nina asked.

Luc laughed. “No,
chère madame,
I’m not an entertainer. I own the restaurant. I’m the executive chef, as we say, but I don’t do the cooking.”

“How many stars?” Nina asked.

“Michelin? Three stars, naturally,” he said playfully, feigning surprise that she even needed to inquire.

“Excellent,” she said. “I’m not going all that way to sample any one-star joint. Truffles?”

“In season, of course. From Périgord, not those ridiculous American ones you try to cultivate in North Carolina.”

“Your wine cellar?”

“Superbe.”

“It’s a very tough business. It’s so competitive,” Nina said. “How did you get into it?”

“The easy way,” he said, pocketing his glasses, so that the blue-gray eyes appeared to be more vivid. “I was born into it. Did you two ever know Lutèce?”

The landmark French restaurant that had closed its elegant doors a couple of years ago had been the center of the culinary world in New York for four decades.

“Very well. Alex took me there the first time I came to the city on a business trip.”

“André Rouget?” Luc asked.

“America’s first superstar chef,” I said, thinking of the many special occasions in my life that had been feted in that wonderful town house on East Fiftieth Street.

“He’s my father. So you see, I had rather a good head start.”

“How divine it was,” Nina said. “I wish it hadn’t shut down.”

“Well, perhaps we can do something about that,” Luc said. “One of the things I’ve been exploring on these trips is the possibility of re-creating the restaurant.”

The music had started and the bridal couple made their way to the adjacent tent, which had been set up for the small band. When others joined in on the second number, Luc asked Nina to dance. She tried to resist and turn him over to me.

“When I hear a Smokey Robinson song,” he said, sounding ever so French as he pronounced my favorite Motown name, “then I understand I’m to come back for Alexandra.”

The next few hours were a seductive mix of dancing and dining, talking while trying to keep myself grounded as my heart fluttered for the first time since my ill-fated romance with Jake Tyler.

By the end of the evening, after Joan had tossed her bouquet and driven off with her groom, only a dozen of us were left on my deck.

“Would you like to take a walk?” Luc asked.

I stepped out of my heels and rested my empty glass on the ground, leading him to the footpath beyond my caretaker’s cottage. “Let’s go down to the water.”

I hadn’t felt this kind of electricity in a long time, but I knew I had to get off this one spot, this piece of earth that still called up Adam’s memory whenever I stood on it. I wanted to kiss Luc, I wanted to be held by him and caressed, and yet I wanted to pace this newfound excitement just as badly.

Nina saw us start to walk away and followed me to the top of the steps. “See you in the morning,
mes amis,”
she called out to us. “She’s really gotten rusty, Luc. Her French — I mean her French is rusty. Make her work on it.”

He picked up my hand as we walked down the grassy slope, neither saying a word until we reached the edge of the pond. The sand felt good underfoot, and I let go of Luc to wade into the shallow water, refreshed and a bit sobered by the cold June current that lapped over my feet.

I turned around and Luc took my face in his hands. Moonlight bounced off the surface of the pond, and for three or four minutes we just drank each other in while he held on to me and stroked the outline of my features. Then he started to brush at the tendrils of hair, wisps that had broken loose from my ponytail as we’d danced, that had curled around my forehead and the nape of my neck.

Gently but firmly, he put his lips down against my mine, kissing me over and over until I opened my mouth and kissed him in return. For more than an hour, we walked the shoreline and climbed slowly back up to the yard, stopping to taste each other from time to time, trying to slow ourselves down.

The lights were out in the guest bedrooms and my other friends had departed. I started to lead Luc back out to the deck. The night was too beautiful to waste on sleep.

Instead, he opened the screen door into the living room. “I know you won’t turn into a pumpkin, but I have very strict orders from Joan to send you off to sleep before it gets to be too late. She said you’re in the middle of a big trial and you must absolutely be tucked in by—”

Luc looked at his watch and uttered a completely Gallic “Ooof. You see? I lost all sense of time.”