He laughed aloud. In less than ten minutes she was going to feel like an idiot, and he was looking forward to it.
If the outside of the Carey mansion looked like a library with huge tasteful wreaths hung on the doors to celebrate the season, the inside was even more overwhelming. The space was inspiring, like a church or a cathedral. The decor artful and understated. Sinfully, she kept wondering how many homeless families could take shelter in an area that size—and then realized that they hadn’t yet left the foyer. She got a little dizzy with her calculations.
“Ah, Clavin,” she said under her breath when the man appeared. He wasn’t at all what she’d expected, a tall, thin man with a natural air of authority, pressed and tidy, but very unstuffed and unstarched. It was his broad smile and cordial “Good evening and Merry Christmas, sir” for Oliver and his warm welcoming eyes and friendly “How do you do, miss” that tossed her over the edge of nervousness and into a place where anything was preferable to screaming and pulling her hair out.
“Tell me, Clavin,” she said, humor twinkling in her eyes as she handed him her wrap. “Do you belong to some sort of butlers’ union? Is there an organized force to ensure your labor rights? You shouldn’t take any chances, you know. With unemployment the way it is and the cost of medical care the way it is...”
“Oh no you don’t,” Oliver said, laughing after his initial shock. He should have expected her to warm up to Clavin right away; everyone did. He had hoped her uncharacteristic display of nervous jitters would last at least until he got her to the living room. He was rather liking the idea of being her only ally in an enemy camp. “I didn’t bring you here to start an insurrection. Keep her away from the gardeners, Clavin,” he said over his shoulder, pulling the two apart. “And tell Cookie that if she didn’t make those little round nut cookies that I like for Christmas this year, I’ll have her flogged.”
“Yes, Mister Oliver.”
“Mister Oliver? Is that what he calls you? Mister Oliver?”
“Now that I’m the one who pays him, it is. When I was young, he called me ‘young hellion’ or ‘brat,’ and once he spanked me with a wooden spoon.”
“He did?” She was impressed. “What for?”
“Stealing his Playboy magazines.”
She gasped in shock and then had to gasp in shock again as they walked into the crowded living room and came face-to-face with Phil Rosenthal.
“Holly! How wonderful to see you again so soon,” he said, coming to take her hands in his and planting a fond kiss on her cheek. “I thought I’d have to wait a whole year. Marge, come see who’s here.”
Oliver stepped back, smiling. With Marge Rosenthal came Bill and Jane Gastrel, who introduced Holly to the Burkes, who were delighted to introduce her to the Hallerons, who laughed at her humorous remarks on the last Rams and 49ers game and introduced her to the Dorseys. She was passed around like a plate of delicious hors d’oeuvres, and his friends were gobbling her up.
He liked seeing her in his house. Things he hadn’t really noticed in years took on new meaning. He wanted to show her everything. He wanted her to be comfortable there, to grow fond of a piece of furniture or a couple of the paintings or to a particular room. He wanted her to become attached to something, to anything he owned, and then, maybe, someday she might be able to call the place home.
“There you are, dear,” his aunt said, coming up behind him. “You’re late. I was so hoping you’d be here to help greet our guests... Oh, hello,” she said when she saw Holly, an expression of surprise and vague recognition on her face.
“You remember Holly, don’t you, Elizabeth? I introduced you in L.A.?”
“Yes. Oh, yes,” she said, also recalling the name from the incident with the telephone messages as well. “I do recall.”
Holly smiled and extended her hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. George, and Merry Christmas. Thank you for inviting me tonight.”
“Yes, certainly, dear, you’re welcome, but to be perfectly honest, you’re my nephew’s surprise guest this evening. We had no idea who he was bringing,” she said, as if, had they known, they might have canceled the party.
“Oh. Well, I hope I won’t be an inconvenience.”
“Certainly not, dear,” Elizabeth said after a quick glance at Oliver’s intense expression. “There’s plenty of room for one more,” and then, thinking to cover her disappointment with humor, she added, “and please don’t feel you need to clear away the dishes. We have plenty of help tonight.”
Those in the crowd who knew Holly went silent because they didn’t understand what Elizabeth meant. The others went silent in confusion as well, but because it was a strange thing to say to a guest, period.
Elizabeth looked around, knowing immediately that something had gone wrong. And as all eyes were on her, and because Oliver’s were particularly unnerving, she felt she needed to explain her little witticism.
“She’s a waitress, you see, and I didn’t want her to feel it was necessary for her to...”
“Oh, Mother, really,” Johanna Reins said, stepping out of the silent crowd to save Holly. “She’s not a waitress all the time. She was helping out her family that night, remember?” She turned to the gathering. “If none of you have been to Spoleto’s in L.A., you’ll have to make a special trip. It’s fabulous. I heard about it from Jacqueline Spears—and you know she knows her restaurants.” Everyone laughed. “Holly’s family owns it, and you really must go. We went at Thanksgiving, and I’m still trying to lose the weight I put on that night.”
Johanna slipped an accepting arm about Holly’s waist and, turning her back to both her mother and Oliver, walked into the crowd with her new best friend.
“Oliver, dear, I didn’t mean...”
Oliver turned to his aunt, and she fell instantly silent. He looked at her hard and long, seeing only a pathetic, bitter old woman. In a soft voice that carried both a warning and a threat, he said, “Remember where you are, Aunt.”
“But I didn’t mean...” she faltered. He had walked away from her. And the only other person under her own roof who seemed even the slightest bit interested in hearing her explanation was dear, sweet Barbara Renbrook. Always willing to listen, always willing to understand.
“You’re not going to start humbugging, now are you?” Holly asked Oliver a short time later. She’d caught him alone and brooding by the fire. The fireplace was big enough to comfortably sleep four, she noted, bringing her total to 784 people so far.
“Of course not,” he said, turning to her, smiling. “Now that I’ve got you where I want you—on my turf—I don’t have anything to humbug about. I just wish... I’m sorry about before. I wanted everything to be perfect tonight. I wanted you to see how normal people with money can be.”
She smiled. His choice of words amused her.
“Well, I appreciate the thought, but ‘normal’ connotes a standard, and this”—she waved her hand to include the house as well as the party gathered—“isn’t standard anywhere but on one extreme end of the economic pole. However, I do like your choice of friends. They’re nice people.”
“For rich people.”
She grinned. “For any kind of people.”
“Did you really think I’d fill my house with people like my aunt and then bring you here as a sacrificial lamb? You were pretty nervous earlier.”
“No... Well, yes, but not intentionally. I forgot about the Rosenthals and the Gastrels. I knew you wouldn’t let anyone hurt me, but I also didn’t want you to have to defend who I am to your friends.”
His expression drooped. “You mean, instead of watching you flirt with every man in the room, I could have been slaying dragons? I blew my chance to impress you with my studliness?”
“I don’t flirt,” she said, batting her golden eyes at him. Then, grinning wickedly and stepping closer, she added, “And I’m already impressed with your studliness.”
He felt chills all over his body.
“There’s a bed upstairs
,” he said, bending his head to her ear, “that’s big enough to sleep eight.” Her eyes grew round, not because of the size of the bed, but because he was using her yardstick to describe it. “We could go up and roll around on it for a while.”
“What about dinner?”
“We could roll around in that too... and then we can spend the rest of the night cleaning each other. The tub’s big enough for four. Plenty of room for two.”
“What about your guests?”
“They’ll have to use the other tubs.”
“Should I ask how many tubs there are? Or just let it go?”
He laughed at her disdain.
“Since I’d have to tell you that I don’t know exactly how many there are, maybe we should change the subject,” he said wisely. “Have you met Senator Berryman yet? Big money. Excellent contributor. Good target for St. Augustine’s. Oh! And the Weirs. Very deep pockets...”
Holly spent the rest of the evening biting her cheeks as Oliver passed her from one guest to the next, irreverently slipping her bits of information and amusing anecdotes under his breath. Side by side, they were a charming, handsome couple, and everyone noticed how deeply in love they were—apparently.
“Everyone’s talking about it,” Johanna insisted, meeting Holly in the powder room after dinner. “They’ve never seen Oliver so happy or so obviously in love. It’s very plain that you’re good for him. He’s actually having fun tonight.”
“He doesn’t have much fun, does he?” she said, thinking of the sadness she sometimes saw in his eyes, the loneliness.
She had reapplied her lipstick and run her fingers through her hair and was now leaning against the vanity, content to stay and talk with Johanna, whom she was liking more and more.
“Not much anymore. Not since he took over for his father and then started acting like him too.”
“You make settling down sound terrible.”
“No,” she said, thoughtfully reblushing her pale cheeks to perfection. “Not terrible. But in Oliver’s case, it’s definitely boring. I really miss the old Oliver sometimes.”
“I understand he was pretty wild.”
“Wild.” She grinned in the mirror at her. “Good word for it. He was a wild man for certain. And fun, except when he felt like fighting. He was constantly getting into fights. We used to go out and do wonderfully crazy things together. We were forever in trouble.” She paused and became wistful. “He’s full of guilt and responsibility now, but underneath it all, deep down inside, there’s still a wild man. He still gets crazy now and then.” She looked up at Holly. “Like the other day when he exploded all over my mother for dismissing your phone calls.”
Ah. Now they were on a subject Holly really wanted to get into. She’d discover all there was to know about Oliver in her own way, in her own time, and enjoy every minute of it. But she didn’t have that luxury with Elizabeth George. She needed information and an operational strategy for her right away.
“Oliver and your mother fought about me?” Not good news.
“Oh, I wouldn’t call it a fight really,” she said, putting her makeup back into her beaded purse. “It was more like Oliver clouding up and storming on her, and her standing there getting wet. You see, my mother’s... uh... a little narrow-minded, but she isn’t stupid. Everything we have belongs to Oliver. He’s very generous, and don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t hold it over our heads or anything like that, but my mother’s always afraid he might. She’s terrified of him.” She turned to Holly in earnest then. “Which is one of the reasons I’ve been waiting to get you alone tonight. I wanted to warn you about my mother... and Oliver.”
“Warn me about what?”
Johanna was hesitant, not knowing the right words to express what was on her mind.
“I don’t want you to misunderstand me,” she said slowly. “I love my mother. She’s not an all-bad person. She’s... old-fashioned. She still believes that money is built into the DNA molecule. You’re either born with it or you’re not. Even new money is something of a genetic defect to her. And then, of course, to keep the gene pure and undiluted, she frowns on intereconomic relationships. Money should marry money and make more money.” She held up her hand. “I’m not saying I agree with her thinking. It’s just the way she is... and she knows all about you.”
Holly’s eyes narrowed defensively and her body automatically shifted to a prepared stance.
“Exactly what does she know about me?”
“That you’re Joan Ellerbey’s right-hand person at the Paulson Clinic, and about your mother at St. Augustine’s.”
Holly went quiet and wary, unsure of the issue. Was it that she wasn’t good enough for Oliver? Or was it something else? Was Elizabeth planning to use Carolann as a wedge between them? Or was it something else? Was Elizabeth planning to cut the grants to both places because of her? Or was it something else?
“She’s really not a bad person,” Johanna persisted. “She’s completely dedicated to helping those less fortunate than us. Truly she is. But... well, she isn’t always the wisest person.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I think you should tell Oliver that my mother’s planning to revoke the grant funds to the Paulson Clinic this quarter and have St. Augustine’s reviewed next fall.”
“Because of me?”
Johanna sighed and looked thoroughly shamefaced. She couldn’t look Holly in the eye as she gave a slight nod of her head.
“I’m afraid so,” she said, her voice shaky with regret. “I’m sorry, Holly. But that’s why I think you should tell Oliver. She won’t listen to me. I’ve tried over and over to explain to her that cutting off the funds to the clinic because of you would be hurting so many more people, so many people who need so much... and how good you are for Oliver. But she’s not listening. Her mind is set, old-fashioned and misguided as it is. Tell Oliver. She’s afraid of him, so she’ll do whatever he says. She keeps pretending she hasn’t made the connection between you and the clinic yet, but that’s only to keep Oliver from getting suspicious and stepping into her territory. I really think he should know.”
“Why don’t you tell him?” she asked. It was a logical question, if Johanna was as concerned as she appeared to be.
But she became even more embarrassed and degraded as she admitted, “I would but... I know how cowardly this is going to sound but... we live in a trickle-down budget here. My mother gets her money from Oliver, and I get mine from her...” Her words faded on a pathetic note. “Please don’t think too harshly of me. I... I’m not like you, Holly. You’re brave and strong and capable. And I’m... I’ve been trained to be a rich man’s wife, a party hostess, a fund-raiser, a pretty ornament. I don’t know anything else. I can’t tell him and risk losing everything I know. I’m sorry.”
It was a disgusting confession, but heartfelt, and Holly couldn’t bring herself to condemn her. Johanna wasn’t like her mother. She’d been nothing but kind to Holly since their first meeting. She was as much a victim of circumstance as the people who came to the clinic—though the comparison was rather broad.
“I appreciate you telling me this,” she said. The small smile of acceptance and pardon on her lips couldn’t quite make it to her eyes. “At least I’ll be prepared now. But I’ve already decided not to tell Oliver. I thought about it when we first got the notice, when I discovered he didn’t have a working, hands-on knowledge of that end of his business. But I don’t need Oliver to fight my battles for me, and I can’t ask him for money. This is business, and it shouldn’t have anything to do with what he and I have together.”
“But doesn’t my mother’s attitude change all that? I mean, if she’s going to play dirty, shouldn’t you?”
“No,” she said, her head lifting higher in the air. “There’s a board of trustees. We have a legitimate need for the money. There are ways of getting around this sort of thing.”
“Oh, Holly, I hope you’re right about this. My mother has a lot of influence over the foundatio
n. It’s her only source of power, and she guards it carefully.”
She was genuinely concerned, and Holly found it endearing. She was beginning to believe she’d found a true friend in Johanna, and who knew? With a little nudge here and a little prodding there and a few more serious talks and some exposure... maybe Johanna would eventually make a good recruit.
“Yes, but now I have a friend on the inside, right?” she said, smiling as she put an arm around Johanna’s shoulder. “Someone to keep me informed. Someone to whisper sweet nothings in her mother’s ear.”
Johanna grinned, slyly.
“My mama warned me about girls like you, Holly Loftin. And I’m beginning to think she’s not all wrong about some things.” They laughed. “But I’ll do what I can. I warn you, it may not be much. I’m not a big part of the scheme of things around here, but I will try.”
“Well, you’re a big part of my scheme. And I need all the help I can get.”
Oliver parked behind the Paulson Clinic in the alley between Deaver Street and the old library that now housed an army surplus outlet. He waited almost twenty minutes before he released a long-suffering but good-natured sigh, removed his pure-silk tie and suit jacket, then entered the two-story building through the rear entrance.
Warm, moist air, thick with the mixed aroma of the four major food groups and coated with the overwhelming scent of roast turkey, met him before he even had the door open. So did the clamor of pots and pans and the rumbling of a couple hundred voices from within.
At five o’clock that morning, Holly had slipped from the cozy warm nest they’d made on her couch to help prepare Christmas dinner for the line of people that now extended along the entire front of the building and down half the next block.
Once again she’d underestimated her generosity in thinking she’d be finished and ready to go out for their own Christmas celebration by seven-thirty that evening. And he’d accounted for that, arriving at eight. But it was now nearly eight-thirty... and he knew Holly.
With the uncanny ability that came with love, he spotted her almost immediately in the crowd. Standing at the serving line, talking and smiling and laughing as she worked. He took a minute to watch her, to realize that service was not only her job, but her joy. He felt his heart swell with something that was more than love; something that hurt, it felt so good; something he’d never known before.
Wait for Me Page 13
