Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) (10 page)

Instead of playing billiards, as Ellen had suggested, Kendall had recommended a tour of the rose garden, to which Lorry readily agreed. Nick wandered along behind them.

The rose garden consisted of walls of wild rose bushes dotted with arches and trellises covered with climbing roses, several fountains with small cherubs gamboling, white wrought-iron love-seats for sitting, and a myriad of different roses, from floribundi to hybrid tea and miniatures to grandifloras, all of them beautifully cared for and many of them spectacular.

“However do your parents look after all this, Kendall?” Lorry asked in amazement.

Kendall laughed. “If you think either of them has a green thumb, forget it. As far as Dad’s concerned, if looking after the place was up to him, this would be a slab of concrete, possibly painted green. I guess Mom likes it, because she raved about it when they bought the house. But my personal opinion is that she likes it because it’s a status symbol. You know, ‘Won’t you come to tea in my rose garden, dear?’

“Anyway, there are two full-time gardeners looking after the grounds. Plus a part-timer to do the heavy work. And if you like this garden, wait until you see the Japanese one.”

Lorry shook her head, then moved on, exclaiming about first one and then another rose.

Kendall waited for Nick. “Cat got your tongue?” he asked quietly. “Or are you coming to your senses?”

It was a moment before Nick replied. “No,” he said slowly. “I remembered something and started thinking about it. Sorry.”

“No problem. It’s only that when you’re around attractive women you aren’t usually quiet. Unless of course you got to thinking she might prefer the strong, silent type.”

Nick half-grinned, looking rueful. “Am I as obvious as that?”

“Usually. But then I know you better than most.”

“Well, I’ll try to be better company.” He looked over at Lorry. She was standing in the shade of one of the enormous trellises. As she leaned forward to smell one of the roses, a shaft of bright sunlight hit her, making her face glow and her hair shine like new copper. As if seeing her for the first time, Nick said, “She is attractive, isn’t she?”

Kendall smiled. “Not exactly what you expected.” He snapped off a dead flower and threw it under the bush. “Not what I expected, either, to be honest.”

“So, do I have a clear field?” Nick grinned. “You still prefer blue-eyed blondes?”

“Well,” Kendall teased, “I may regret this, but go ahead. Don’t worry about me.”

“Sounds like you’ve met your Waterloo. I’ll make sure I let Marilyn know how faithful you are.”

Kendall traced the curve of a large rose petal with one finger. “You in any danger of meeting yours?”

“You wish.” Nick smiled, but his eyes remained grim. He walked over to Lorry, who was staring at a spectacular Chicago Peace rose. “Nice, huh?”

“Breathtaking.”

“Yeah, I agree.”

She looked up, saw he was looking at her rather than the rose, and blushed.

Nick then began a guided tour of the garden, making up names for the roses, and before long all three were laughing as though they were old friends.

They were interrupted by the chime of a clear bell.

“Mom’s idea,” Kendall announced. “This place is too big to yell. The bell means, ‘Dinnah is served, m’lud and lady.’ Shall we?” He held out his arm, and Lorry, after a small hesitation, took it.

Nick bowed and dutifully took Lorry’s other arm. “Amazing things one learns at law school. How to escort a lady to a formal dinner.”

“Really?”

“One of our classes had a very large book on etiquette as required reading. As a lawyer, one has to be polite at all times. Even if you call someone an idiot, there are ways to do it politely. Don’t laugh; it’s true. One of the many reasons I’m not a lawyer.”

“I know you’re joking about the book. But I thought Ellen said you had both graduated from law school.”

“We did. But unless I actually practice law I defy anyone to call me a lawyer. I’m a skier.”

“So am I, but—”

“You ski?”

“Whenever I get the chance.”

“Any good?”

“Average.”

“Downhill?”

“Uh huh. You?”

“Anything. Mostly moguls and aerials.”

“Really?”

Nick laughed. “No, I made it up. Just kidding. I’m a freestyle skier.”

“Oh, that’s great. I love watching freestyle skiing. But isn’t it difficult?”

“No more difficult than a lot of things.”

“And not nearly as remunerative as law,” put in Kendall, who had been silent since Nick began to talk.

The party gathered in the enormous living room. Like the rest of the house, it was a show piece. One entire wall was a fireplace made from white marble. Indirect lighting brought out its gleaming charm. It contrasted with the large pictures on the other three white walls—abstract pictures of giant royal blue and emerald green flowers. Four white satin brocade sofas held court on the off-white carpet, amid a scattering of bright green and blue Queen Anne chairs and white marble end tables. Gold-tone lamps with white shades speckled with tiny blue and green flowers rested on many of the tables. Here and there were green or blue vases of various sizes holding a profusion of fresh roses and other flowers from the gardens.

Lorry, Nick, and Kendall entered the room just ahead of Douglass and Anne. The room became the topic of conversation. Kendall assured them that a decorator his father hired had full responsibility for every room in the house except the den. “Dad said to spare no expense, and she didn’t.”

They all turned as Anne gave a brittle laugh. “Jillian seems to be missing. She obviously knows the effect of an entrance.”

Douglass’s face reddened slightly in the short silence, then Ellen said something innocuous about how nice it was to have such a nice large gathering. Conversation was beginning to flow again when Peter and Jillian walked in, with Shauna trailing behind them. Jillian had changed into brilliant orange cocktail pants with a matching scoop-necked overblouse. Her golden hair shone, reflecting the orange glow. The gold-embossed chain of crystals she wore sent shimmers of light radiating in all directions. The smooth, expertly made-up face glowed with vitality. One could not really fault Peter for the look of pride on his face.

“Hope we didn’t keep you waiting,” he said with a smile.

Polite answers were given, and Ellen and George led the way into the dining room. Jillian glided to her chair and waited while Peter pulled it out. She smiled serenely at everyone. “Sorry I’m a wee bit late. I really don’t know how I managed to get here this quickly.” Her voice was soft, like a shy child’s begging to be forgiven. Several male voices rushed to say there was no problem.

Nick turned to Lorry, who was seated between him and Kendall.

“Where do you usually ski?”

Since Lorry had been one of those mesmerized by Jillian, Nick had to repeat the question. When she did hear him, she simply said, “Banff and Jasper,” and continued watching Jillian. After a moment, it dawned on her that she had been rude. She turned to smile at Nick.

In the rose garden, her attention had been on the flowers, so she hadn’t really looked at Nick closely. Her impression had been of a nice-looking, confident man. Now, however, as she took in the darkness of his wavy hair and black sports jacket, contrasted against the white of his smooth shirt and finely chiseled face, and in the midst of this starkness, brilliant blue eyes gleaming like sapphires, she was shocked into thinking he was quite possibly the most attractive man she’d ever seen.

Not that his looking somewhat like a movie star meant anything, of course. It was what was inside that mattered.

She didn’t allow herself to look at him again. But she did glance once more at Jillian. She was so—even the word beautiful seemed inadequate. Dazzling? Like you would expect a famous actress to look.

Lorry saw Jillian’s head tilt slightly as she listened to something Peter was saying. Saw her eyes widen as she stared down the table at Nick. Saw a smile touch those perfect lips. Then Jillian turned back to say something to George on her other side.

For a second, Lorry felt just a tinge of—what? Annoyance? Stupid. It was natural that Jillian would find Nick attractive. Who wouldn’t? She scolded herself for thinking like a schoolgirl. He wasn’t her type at all. He’d probably be right at home with someone like Jillian. And what a couple they would make! The thought didn’t entirely please her.

“Lorry, do you think you could pass the butter?” Nick’s voice startled her. “Not for me. I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your thoughts. But Anne wants it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She quickly found the butter and gave it to him. “I guess I was deep in thought.”

“A penny for those thoughts,” Nick said. “Or are they worth more?”

“More than you could afford, sir.”

“You know, ma’am, I’d rather if you called me Nick. Of course, you could call me Nicky, or even Nicholas, or perhaps Hey, You, but I rather prefer Nick from my friends. You are going to be my friend, aren’t you?”

Lorry felt her cheeks turning pink. Just like a schoolgirl! “Eat your supper, Nick.”

Nick laughed and Lorry looked down at the beautifully prepared plate that had just been placed before her, but her eyes were drawn irresistibly back to Jillian, and to her surprise she saw Jillian look away.

Why on earth would Jillian be watching her? Likely she was just looking around the table, perhaps wondering who everyone was.

There were several people Lorry hadn’t met yet. Douglass Fischer. Peter and Jillian. The mousy-looking girl Kendall had said was Jillian’s uninvited sister. And Bart Brodie. He was a type she had never met. Not that she had met many people like the others, either in the small town where she’d grown up or in the city of Edmonton where she’d gone to college the last four years.

The truth was, she felt she’d been plunged into a completely different world, where money flowed freely and standards were very different from those with which she had grown up, and which she had adopted for her own.

Lorry bowed her head and said a silent grace.
God, thank you for this food and for bringing me here, and please keep me from making too many social blunders this weekend. And help me to remember what’s really important. Let me see through your eyes.

After supper, George strolled off to his den with Peter and Douglass, ostensibly on business. The rest of the house party followed Ellen back to the formal living room with its marble fireplace, vaulted ceiling, and groupings of sofas and chairs. Coffee and tea were set out on the central coffee table, and as Ellen poured, she protested, “Those men. If you ask me, all they’re going to do is find a bottle of something that George has stashed away and that will be the sum total of their so-called ‘business talk.’ They think they can pull the wool over our eyes.”

“And can’t they?” Bart asked. He was leaning back in an overstuffed rocker, lazily studying the rest of the group. “Can’t they?” he demanded.

“Well, not most of the time,” his aunt replied. Then she laughed. “All right. You’re an exception. No one knows what you’re liable to do.”

“Sounds intriguing,” Jillian said as she selected a cigarette from a gold case. “What do you do, Mr. Brodie?”

“If you find out, let us know. That is, if he does anything at all,” Kendall commented.