When Heyward’s car pulled up in front of Scott’s, Coleman was startled to see great torches on the front of the building, and a doorman wearing a tailcoat and a black bowler. When they stepped out of the car, lights flashed around them. Did the lights go on when they walked on the pavement that led to the doors?
She turned to Heyward. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”
He laughed. “I thought you New Yorkers were used to bright lights.”
“Not like this,” she said. “Somehow this is more exciting, more glamorous than a party in New York.”
•••
Coleman looked around at the private room. “It’s perfect,” she said.
The Art Deco room, hung with bright-colored art, was spacious and inviting. A long table, arranged to seat fourteen people, was covered in a pale yellow tablecloth. Bowls of mixed yellow and white spring flowers, and low enough not to block the view of any guest, decorated the table. The amount of space around the table and chairs was exactly right—perfect for the group to circulate, but not too roomy.
She stood by Heyward to greet the guests as they came in. She was glad he had declared the evening to be black tie. All men looked their best in black tie, including Heyward. She had packed several evening dresses, and might buy more while she was in London, if many events called for them. Tonight she wore her new green satin dress, with a matching green satin cap, adorned with a few green feathers, inspired by an outfit she’d seen in the magazine Majesty. She also wore the emerald necklace and earrings Heyward had given her for her last birthday.
Dinah and Jonathan were the first to arrive. Dinah usually wore blue evening dresses to show off her blue eyes, so startling with her black hair, but tonight she wore a form-fitting white satin dress, glittering with opalescent sequins, and a spectacular diamond necklace and earrings. Coleman smiled to herself. No one would outshine Dinah tonight. Jonathan was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before. He doted on Dinah, and loved seeing her dressed up. She rarely dressed up as much as she had tonight.
After Dinah and Jonathan’s arrival, the other guests poured in. Coleman met Rachel, magnificent in wine-colored velvet and the fabulous antique gold jewelry Dinah had told Coleman about, escorted by her lawyer, George Quincy. They chatted a few minutes and Rachel invited her to lunch to talk about their book publishing project. Coleman was pleased to accept. Rachel was likable, as well as intelligent and friendly.
The older couple who came in with Rachel and Quincy had to be Quincy’s sister and her husband, Lord and Lady Darny. Lady Darny, in gray satin the color of her hair, and silver jewelry, looked elegant and dignified—perfectly dressed for her age. The Darnys and George Quincy seemed somewhat stiff, but very nice. Rachel’s friend Lady Fitzgerald, a tiny, fragile-looking woman, wore lavender velvet, and a cluster of violets on her shoulder. She puzzled Coleman—she seemed skittish, and rather silly, but her pale blue eyes were intelligent, and she was observing everything and everyone around her. Jane Ross, in an exquisite pink dress, had piled her hair high on her head and topped it with a pink veil, and a sprig of pink feathers. All the women were wearing the fashionable long, slim look that the Duchess of Cambridge had appeared in more than once.
A stunningly handsome man arrived alone. Who could he be? He was well over six feet tall, and slender—the kind of slender that suggested he played tennis and other fast games. His tuxedo included the slim trousers that all the well-dressed men in London seemed to wear. His dark brown hair tended to flop onto his forehead. His face was craggy, and his profile and golden eyes reminded Coleman of an angry hawk. But when he smiled, as he did when Heyward introduced him, his ferocity melted away, and he looked warm and friendly.
“Coleman, this is Anthony, the Duke of Omnium’s son. You should thank him for letting us use the family airstrip yesterday,” Heyward said.
Coleman smiled up at him. “Are you like Lord Peter Death Bredon Wimsey, with a long string of names?”
He laughed. “Guilty, I fear. But please call me Tony.”
“Do you solve crimes as a hobby, like Lord Peter?” she asked.
He laughed again. “Far from it. I always thought Lord Peter should get a real job.”
“Then maybe you work for Scotland Yard, like Thomas Lynley, eighth Earl of Asherton?” she said.
“You know your English detective novels, don’t you? No, I don’t work for Scotland Yard, but I do have a crime-related job, and thanks to you, it’s just become easier,” he said.
“I can’t imagine how. What do you do?” Coleman asked.
“I work for an agency that specializes in the recovery of stolen art and antiques,” Tony said. “I understand I have a lot to thank you for. Thanks to you, a long list of stolen art and antiques has been recovered, and a number of criminals arrested. Your discovery at 23 Culross Place is terribly important. We arrested people who’re going to turn on their bosses. We’re also going to make some antique and art owners very happy when we return what they lost.”
“I’m so glad,” Coleman said.
“You’ll be the toast of England. Let me be the first to drink to you.” He lifted his champagne glass and said, “To Coleman, with congratulations and gratitude!”
Coleman smiled, and was about to thank him when the animated conversation in the room stopped, replaced by silence. She turned to see what had caused it.
She was astonished to see a fair-haired young woman in an enormous blue taffeta ball gown over petticoats and a hoop. She was holding up her skirt with both hands, revealing long white pantalets, authentically frilled at the bottom—very antebellum South, although no Southern belle would have held her skirt that high. She wore a tiara, earrings, and a necklace of what appeared to be real sapphires. Coleman raised her eyebrows and looked at Dinah, standing next to her.
“I’m pretty sure the sapphires are real, but borrowed from a jeweler. As for her dress, I can’t imagine where she got it,” Dinah murmured.
Jeb Middleton walked in behind the woman’s hoop skirt. He wore traditional black tie, a gardenia on his lapel, and an atypically sheepish expression.
“Who’s the woman?” Coleman asked Dinah.
“Princess Stephanie—I wrote you about her. An idiot, and a crybaby. She’s the one who made etchings that were stolen, and the thief is trying to extort money from her. She told Rachel she borrowed jewelry for grand occasions. This is a grand occasion, but it’s not a costume party,” Dinah said.
“I remember all you told me about her. She and Jeb are an odd couple. I can’t imagine why he let her dress up like that. This isn’t a United Daughters of the Confederacy party,” Coleman said.
“I’ve heard that Princess Stephanie is telling people she’s staying at the Connaught with an American lover. Her lover must be Jeb,” Dinah said.
“I liked him when I met him in New York, but if she’s his kind of woman, he’s definitely not my kind of man,” Coleman said.
“Nor mine,” Dinah said.
Heyward, normally imperturbable, seemed taken aback by the newest arrivals. “Jeb, welcome. Everyone, this is Jeb Middleton from Charleston, South Carolina. Jeb is in London assisting me with some of my projects.
“Jeb, I haven’t met your companion. Please introduce her—but first, tell me, did you have her outfit sent over from Charleston? I know you’re a loyal southerner, but making your companion wear a hoop skirt is a bit extreme,” Heyward said.
Jeb laughed. “Not my idea. This is my friend Princess Stephanie. Stephanie, this is your host, Heyward Bain, and this is Coleman Greene, Heyward’s sister and the guest of honor. I think you’ve met Dinah Greene Hathaway—”
“Oh, I know Dinah,” Stephanie said. “We’re old friends. I know Rachel, too. No, Heyward—you don’t mind me calling you Heyward, do you? Jeb didn’t give me this dress. I had it made for the occasion. I know you and Ms. Greene are from the South—I wanted to make y’all feel at home, so I’m wearing your native dress. Do you like it?”
&nbs
p; Coleman could see Heyward struggling for a polite answer. She knew Heyward was annoyed with Jeb for bringing Stephanie to the party. Heyward must know all about her. He wouldn’t like her calling him by his first name, either. She took him off the hook.
“Thank you for the thought,” Coleman said. “I’ve never worn a hoop skirt, but Dinah has. She was a beauty queen in high school and wore a dress very like the one you have on.”
“Yes, and it was a terrible nuisance. I couldn’t get into a car, and when I sat at a table, I took up three spaces,” Dinah said. “Incidentally, you don’t have to drawl when you talk to us. I think Jeb is the only one of us who has that Deep South accent.”
“Really? I thought all southerners talked like that,” Stephanie said.
“No, and hardly any of us wear hoop skirts,” Coleman said.
“I suggest you remove the hoop,” Dinah said. “It’s not like you’ll be naked. You have on all those petticoats and those pantalets.”
“Oh, I can’t do that,” Princess Stephanie said. “I can’t remove the hoop—the dress will droop. I’ll look terrible!”
“I’m afraid Dinah is right,” Heyward said. “You will have to dispense with the hoop. The table is set for fourteen people, and there’s no way to rearrange it to accommodate the hoop.”
“Oh, no,” Princess Stephanie cried. “Please don’t make me remove the hoop.”
“Speaking for the southerners you’re honoring, there’s no choice. We can’t sit down to dinner until you get rid of the hoop,” Coleman said.
“Maybe I should just leave,” Princess Stephanie said. Tears began to stream down her cheeks.
“There goes the crybaby act,” Dinah said into Coleman’s ear. “She can weep for hours.”
Jeb stepped in. “Don’t be silly. The restrooms are just down the hall. Run down there and get rid of the hoop so we can have dinner. The food here is delicious.”
He was echoed by a murmur of agreement from the group, and everyone began to move toward the table. Coleman was pleased to be seated by Tony, but not so happy to see Charles Ross, who had accompanied Lady Jane—and who looked a lot like her—on her other side. Coleman was sure she’d seen him in the menacing crowd at the Ross office. Would he be as surly and rude as his relatives had been? Why had Heyward seated him next to her?
Before she had a chance to speak to either Charles Ross or Tony, Stephanie returned, and all eyes focused on her.
She had scooped up the blue dress and all the petticoats, and was holding them over her arm. She marched in, with the pantalets in full view. She was in no way exposed, since the pantalets were made of thick cotton, but she had set out to make people look at her. The effect was vulgar and crude. “I want to make sure I don’t crowd any of you,” she said crossly.
Coleman and Dinah exchanged glances of disapproval. Stephanie was a disagreeable little thing. She needed lessons on manners.
Heyward had placed Stephanie between Jeb and George Quincy. Jeb pulled out her chair and seated her. She looked around, spotted Tony, and batted her eyelashes. “Are you southern, too?” she asked.
Coleman saw him stiffen. She could tell he didn’t want to meet Stephanie or introduce himself to her. “No, Tony is an old friend from the North,” she said, her fingers crossed. “Jeb and Heyward are the only southern men here tonight. But you should get to know George Quincy, who’s sitting beside you. He’s a well-known lawyer who lives here in London. You never know when you might need a good lawyer,” Coleman said.
She heard Dinah swallow laughter and Tony sigh with relief. Charles Ross looked at her suspiciously.
Coleman smiled at him and at Stephanie, and turned to the waiter, who was asking if she wanted oysters, smoked salmon, or razor clams as a first course. She chose razor clams because she’d never tasted them, and didn’t even know what they looked like. When they came, she was thrilled with her choice. They were grilled with garlic and a dab of spicy sausage and served in their own six-inch-long shells. Delicious!
The main course was Heyward’s favorite: grilled Dover sole, with new potatoes, tiny green beans, and creamed spinach. Coleman had heard that seafood in England was the best in the world, and after she’d tasted the sole, she believed it. She looked up and down the table. Everyone seemed to be enjoying their food and their companions except for Charles Ross and Stephanie. Both were silent and sulking.
She turned to Tony and said, “Are you enjoying the evening?”
“Only when you talk to me,” he said. “Tell me all the things you want to do while you’re in England.”
“I will, if you promise not to laugh.”
“I promise,” he said.
“First, ride the London Eye. I want to see bluebells in bloom—they’re in bloom now, aren’t they? I really want to see them. I have friends in New York who come to England in February to see snowdrops—I’d like to do that someday. I want to see and touch a hedgehog.”
“Okay. What else?”
“We don’t have wild hedgehogs in the USA,” Coleman said. “I only know them in books. I want to see a badger, I guess at night—isn’t that the only time you can see them?”
“Yes, they’re night creatures,” Tony said.
“Again, I only know them in books. Most of all, I want to see and hear a nightingale.”
“You are not like any woman I’ve ever met,” Tony said.
“How so? What makes me so different?” Coleman said.
“Most women want to meet members of the Royal Family, or they ask me to take them to certain clubs, or to the most expensive places in London,” he said.
“Oh, well, maybe I’ll be interested in doing those things on another trip. My love for England grew out of books. I want to see animals and flowers and other things I’ve read about—because I already love them,” Coleman said.
“I figured that out. I’m pretty sure I can handle the badger and the bluebells and the hedgehog. The nightingale might be tough.”
Coleman laughed. “I’m confident you can do it,” she said.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the Fat Duck? Three hours, a fixed menu, and £300? It’s quite an experience.”
“Fat Duck?” Coleman asked.
“Yes,” said Tony. “Most people want to go because the food is good, but it may also be the most expensive restaurant in England.”
“No, I don’t want to go there,” Coleman said firmly.
He laughed. “I didn’t think so,” he said.
•••
When the party was breaking up, and she was standing by the door saying goodnight to the guests, Tony approached her again.
“Would you like to go to Claridge’s for a nightcap?” he asked.
Coleman smiled. “Thank you, but I’m exhausted. May I have a rain check?”
“That must be an American expression. If it means you’ll go out with me another night, what about tomorrow?”
She hesitated. “What I’d like more than anything tomorrow night is to ride the London Eye. Can we do that?”
“Of course we can, but we still have to eat. Where would you like to go, or put another way, what would you like to eat?”
“I’d like something very English,” Coleman said. “I know, let’s have a picnic with tea sandwiches. I think of tea sandwiches as very English. Smoked salmon, cucumber, egg salad, watercress—and lemonade or hot chocolate?”
“That’s fine. I’ll pick you up at Heyward’s at seven. Dress warmly.”
•••
In the car on the way home, Heyward said, “I overheard you turn down a nightcap with Tony. Are you too tired to have a cup of hot chocolate in the library with me before bed?”
“No, I’d love it,” Coleman said. “I’ll run upstairs and take off this dress first.”
She removed her formal clothes and reappeared a few minutes later in the white robe and slippers she’d found in her room.
In front of the fire in the library, with a cup of hot chocolate in her hand a
nd Dolly on her lap, Coleman thanked Heyward for the party.
“I had the best time,” she said. “It was a fabulous party. Interesting people, marvelous food.”
“Dinah looked lovely tonight, and seemed to be in the best of spirits. I assume that’s your doing?” Heyward said.
Coleman smiled. “Yes, I’ve helped a little. But before I leave London, I’d like to see Dinah truly happy. Being here should be a great experience for her, and the criminals in the house ruined all of her time here so far. A good cook and the new assignment with First Home will help. She says the people at the Art Museum of Great Britain are unfriendly. I can’t imagine why, but I’d like to do something about it. Do you have any ideas?” Coleman said.
“Mrs. Carter can easily find her a good English cook. I’ll talk to her about it tomorrow. Your idea for Dinah’s column is great. She’ll enjoy it, and meet a lot of people doing it. I also think it will be very successful,” Heyward said. “I’ll take care of the museum. I’ve been asked to join their board. I think they’ll be nice to her when they learn we are connected.”
“That’s great,” Coleman said. “Thanks.”
“Now let’s talk about the party. I want to know what you think of all the guests,” he said.
“Rachel is very nice—I feel as if I’ve always known her. We’ll get along fine on the art publishing project. Her lawyer is as Dinah described—slow, but sound. Not a lot of fun. His relatives are very like him. Decent, reliable people, not very interesting.
“Lady Fitzgerald puzzled me. She comes across like a flibbertigibbet, but her eyes are sharp. I think she’s very smart underneath all that fluttering.”
“You seemed to get along very well with Tony,” Heyward said.
“Yes, I like him a lot. He’s taking me out tomorrow night to ride the London Eye. I can hardly wait.”
Heyward smiled. “I bet that was your idea.”
“Yes, it’s on my list of must-dos while I’m here,” she said.
“I noticed you didn’t speak to Jeb?”
Coleman smiled. “Put another way, he didn’t speak to me. He had his hands full with Princess Stephanie, but I thought he’d at least have the courtesy to say ‘Welcome to London’ or something.”
Bloody Royal Prints Page 14
