The Queensbay Series: Books 1-4: The Queensbay Box Set

by Drea Stein

  She had a plan. If they ignored each other, this just might work. However, she spent so much time making sure that she did, and trying to see whether he was doing the same, that she got little done. And when four o’clock rolled around, she realized she needed to get a move on if she was going to make it to her “date” tonight.

  Caitlyn changed in the bathroom at work. It was rather small and uncomfortable, but she was managing the contortions required to slip into her dress when Heather walked in, looked surprised, and almost walked right back out.

  “No, it’s all right. Just another minute or two.” Caitlyn had traded her work suit for a black dress, which hit just about the knee, with spaghetti straps, a plunging back and just enough of a dip in front to keep it interesting. A gauzy wrap, ill-suited for warding off the fall chill, and shoes with heels up to there helped to compete the look. She wasn’t dressed for comfort, but she looked too good to care.

  “I thought this wasn’t a date?” Heather asked, her green eyes lighting up with interest.

  Caitlyn laughed as she put on one of her diamond earrings. “It’s not. I mean, Mrs. Biddle didn’t sound like my idea of a date.”

  She had asked Heather to call Mrs. Biddle back to tell her that Caitlyn would meet her at her house at five. She didn’t need a ride in a car.

  “Adriana Biddle always took Jeffrey to the best places,” Heather said wistfully. “I think she knew he wanted to be an actor, so she brought him to all of these movie openings and things like that.” Heather rinsed her hands and dried them, giving Caitlyn a friendly but critical once-over.

  “Here, I think you should wear it like that,” Heather said. She tugged on Caitlyn’s dress, and all of a sudden it settled just right. Caitlyn looked in the mirror, pleased by what she saw.

  “Which earrings?” She held up one of each pair – one a chandelier drop, the other a cluster of diamonds.

  “The drops, I think, younger, and better with the dress.”

  Caitlyn tried them on, and nodded at the makeup spread out on the counter. “Okay, smoky eye or something low-key?”

  Heather looked over the assorted tubes and containers, then opened her own purse. “Smoky, definitely. The look might be a bit edgy, but with your dark hair and light eyes, we really want to play up the contrast.”

  Caitlyn smiled, enjoying the girl talk. It had been too long since she had gotten dressed up to go anywhere by herself.

  “Well, go at it. I know it’s not in your pay grade, but I’m sensing I’m in the hands of an expert.”

  Heather smiled and patted the counter. Caitlyn jumped up and closed her eyes while Heather got to work.

  Almost as an afterthought, Caitlyn asked, “Did you say ‘Adriana’?” as Heather brushed something over her cheeks.

  Heather paused. “Yes, Adrianna Biddle, though Jeffrey only ever called her Mrs. Biddle. I think he was a bit afraid of her, as much as she tried to help him, but she was always pleasant enough on the phone. Why?”

  “No reason,” Caitlyn said. “I just didn’t know her first name. Adriana.”

  “Yes, it’s a pretty name,” Heather said, and then, “You’re done.”

  Caitlyn jumped down and turned, looking at herself in the mirror. “Wow,” she said. Heather had been an artist, doing something with the materials at hand to create a look that made Caitlyn feel … sexy.

  “I went for the sultry thing. Jeffrey always said that wherever they went there were sure to be some celebrities, and well, I just thought you should bring your A-game. I know we work in finance and your suits are fine, but this…”

  “Is taking it to a whole new level.” Caitlyn swished her hair a bit. She had always taken time with her looks, but had never thought of herself as a slave to them. Now her dark hair framed a face that showed sculpted cheekbones, dark, dramatic brows and glittering blue eyes. With the drop earrings and black dress, she looked and felt like a panther on the prowl. Perhaps tonight might just be the night to catch something.

  “Do you like it?” Heather said nervously.

  Caitlyn turned to her. “I love it. I would hug you, but I don’t want to ruin your work. I look good. Different but good.” Caitlyn gave her hair a little shake. She felt better than good; she felt sleek, sexy and powerful. She hadn’t thought that she needed a makeover, but here Heather had made her feel a bit like Cinderella.

  Heather smiled back at her in the mirror, as her hands separated and sorted all of the makeup containers.

  “Well, happy hunting tonight. Whatever you’re after.”

  Heather left her alone in the bathroom, and Caitlyn had a few moments to herself, to change over from her day purse to her evening purse, while her mind turned over the possibilities. The Adriana she knew hadn’t been named Biddle. She had been named Randolph. And she would be ancient, wouldn’t she? Then Caitlyn realized, after some quick calculations, she would only be in her late sixties. Not that old. The one and the same? One last look in the mirror had Caitlyn reminding herself that Adriana Biddle, whoever she was, was a big client. Big clients got big treatment.

  The drive to Mrs. Biddle’s house was familiar, and after a few moments, Caitlyn ignored the directions and the address Heather had written out for her and simply followed her memory. Mrs. Biddle did not live near the water, but in a wooded section of the town that was crisscrossed by small, winding roads, cul-de-sacs and tall, old growth trees. Caitlyn pulled into 127 Meriwether Road a few minutes before five and followed the winding driveway until the house finally appeared, set in a clearing among the trees.

  Caitlyn stopped, turned the ignition off and surveyed. It was a large house, built in the late 1930s, white stucco cut across by wood beams that gave it a faintly Tudor appearance, a look helped along by a steeply pitched slate roof, many gables and a rounded tower sprouting from it. Even in the fading light, she could see that the garden was in its winter mode, burlap sacks tied over bushes, the grass faded and waiting for spring.

  Lights winked on and off in various rooms of the house, but Caitlyn sensed little life in there. The house seemed empty, windows on the upper floor looking down at her with black, blank pools of glass.

  Caitlyn pulled her wrap more tightly around her, picked up her evening bag and started up the well-lit fieldstone walk. She rang the door, and it was a brief moment before an older woman, fiftyish, rather plump in a black skirt and a cream-colored blouse, answered it.

  “Miss Montgomery.”

  Caitlyn nodded and followed the woman in.

  “Hello, Marion,” Caitlyn said, dredging the woman’s name up from her memory.

  Marion smiled. “Well, I wasn’t sure that you would remember me, child. You have grown.”

  Caitlyn nodded. Marion had grown older, too, her blonde hair shading towards gray at the roots, her body a little more round.

  “You are really quite pretty now, aren’t you?”

  It wasn’t a question that demanded an answer, which was just as well since Caitlyn found herself blushing.

  It had been close to twelve years since she had seen Marion, since she had been a guest in this house. Then she had been an awkward adolescent, an unwelcome guest at a grown-up party, the result of her mother having not arrived home when she should have and her grandfather’s not wanting to cancel a social commitment. It had happened more than once that summer, and Caitlyn had grown used to spending her time in Marion’s kitchen, while the woman made tea and baked gingerbread, endless batches of gingerbread, which Marion must have thought the cure to all of adolescence’s ills. All it had done with Caitlyn was put on a few pounds that had disappeared once her mother had returned.

  “Adriana is back here. You should be ready to go in just a little while. I called Henry and asked him to come around at a quarter to six.”

  Caitlyn nodded and stepped into the living room. Adriana Randolph Biddle sat there, on her couch, looking through some papers. She looked up as she heard them enter the room, and Caitlyn stepped forward into the light from one of the lamps.r />
  “My goodness,” Adriana said, her half-moon glasses slipping off of her nose, a hand going to her heart.

  “Mrs. Biddle,” Caitlyn said, her voice tight.

  Chapter 22

  “Caitlyn. It really is you. After all these years. I can see your grandfather in you, and your mother, too.”

  They spent a few moments there, standing apart, surveying each other. Caitlyn saw a woman who was closer to seventy than to sixty, her silver hair attractively done so that it looked neither too matronly nor too young. A short, beaded jacket and shoes matched a light gray dress. The body under the dress was pulled up straight, neither too skinny nor too plump. Only the hands, wrinkled and spotted, showed her true age. The face was tight, the product, Caitlyn would have had to guess, of at least one session under the knife.

  “Would you like to sit down for a moment and have a drink before we leave?”

  Caitlyn hesitated.

  “Why are you mad, my dear?”

  “I’m not mad,” Caitlyn said too quickly. Her adolescent sulk was coming back. Adriana’s easy charm had always had that effect on Caitlyn, when in truth, that was one of the things she had most envied about the woman.

  “Just sit down and let us talk. Marion, please bring me a sherry. Caitlyn, what will you have?”

  “White wine, please.” Caitlyn moved from the edge of the living room, the colors deep reds and blues, and sat on the couch. “You should have said something on the phone,” Caitlyn told her.

  “I didn’t want you not to come. I was afraid. Did Jeffrey go off to Hollywood, for real?”

  Caitlyn nodded, and Mrs. Biddle made a tsk-tsk sound before she continued, “It just seemed that it would be better to talk to you face-to-face. You were very angry with me the last time we saw each other.”

  “I was very angry in general,” Caitlyn said. She wasn’t quite ready to apologize, but she could acknowledge it.

  “Are you still angry now?” Mrs. Biddle said.

  “I feel a little tricked.”

  “Not about tonight dear.” Adrianna paused, and then asked, “Do you still think about it all the time?”

  “Yes, but I am not angry anymore,” Caitlyn said.

  “I miss your grandfather very much,” Mrs. Biddle said.

  “So do I,” Caitlyn admitted. That much was true, and something that they could agree on.

  Marion brought their drinks, and Caitlyn was grateful to have something to hold on to. Mrs. Biddle took a sip of her sherry and placed it on the table, on a coaster apparently kept there for that purpose.

  There was silence, and with no crackling fire to break it, Caitlyn was aware of every sound – the clock ticking in the hallway, the creaks of the house settling in around her.

  “So,” Caitlyn said, “where are we going tonight?”

  “To a party my nephew is having.”

  “Your nephew?” Caitlyn had never heard her talk of any family.

  Mrs. Biddle nodded. “My husband, Trip Randolph, died about three years ago.”

  “I’m very sorry,” Caitlyn replied automatically, taking a sip of her wine. It was light and crisp and went down smoothly.

  Mrs. Biddle shrugged. “I could pretend to be, but we all know that I would be lying. You shouldn’t look so shocked, Caitlyn. You can afford to be more honest as you get older.”

  “Still, you must have loved him once.”

  “Once was a long time ago.” Adrianna gave a regretful shrug of her shoulders. “However, I found that, to a certain extent, after all of these years, I enjoyed being married. I met Aaron Biddle right after the death of Trip. We were married about a year later.”

  “Congratulations,” Caitlyn said automatically.

  Mrs. Biddle shrugged. “Unfortunately, he’s in a home now. It’s easier on both of us. His memory is failing him. It all happened very quickly, and we just couldn’t take care of him here, not just the two of us. He is a good deal older than I am. I always did have a thing for older men, you see.”

  “I see,” Caitlyn said, and she did. Her grandfather had been more than ten years older than Adrianna when they had been together.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, Caitlyn. Those are just the facts of my life. I loved your grandfather, very much, but it was never meant to be for the two of us. And so we learn to make do. I was very happy with Aaron, believe it or not – I suppose since I knew that there wasn’t someone else out there, waiting for me, anymore.”

  Caitlyn shifted, uncomfortable. She hadn’t thought about the realities of her grandfather’s relationship with Adriana Randolph in years. Worse, in fact, was that her teenaged mind couldn’t grasp the fact that two people, what she had thought of as old, could actually have been in love. Much less engaged in the actual act.

  “And the party we’re going to tonight?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Yes, my nephew, Tony Biddle – Aaron’s nephew, really. Just mine by marriage, but since Aaron never had any children, and neither did I, he’s just about become a son to us. Tony is opening a new lounge, restaurant thing in the city, and I said I would go. He said that if I were there, then the press would take notice.”

  Caitlyn couldn’t hide the reaction on her face. Mrs. Biddle, before she had been Mrs. Randolph, had been Adriana Wellington, the daughter of a prominent industrialist, a social figure in her own right, solidified by her marriage to Randolph, a wealthy businessman. Adriana had kept her name in the paper through her philanthropy and dedication to nurturing the careers of starving artists.

  A word from Adriana could overnight turn an unknown into a known, the works being collected and sold, the artist fortified by money and notoriety that guaranteed the ability to continue to create.

  “I know, dear; he was being kind. The press hasn’t taken much notice of me lately, which is fine, and deliberate. Besides, I understand that his openings attract enough big names on their own to keep the press in pictures for days.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant,” Caitlyn offered her reassurances. “I am just excited to be going to one of his clubs on its opening night. I’ve been to the one in London.”

  “This is his second in New York. Apparently it’s even more expensive than the other ones. Have you ever met Tony?”

  “Actually, yes. Briefly. He stopped by our table. I was with someone he knew.” She didn’t bother to mention that the someone had been Michael.

  Adrianna looked at her shrewdly. “Tony remembers you. He said you’re engaged.”

  “Yes. I was engaged, but now I am not.” Caitlyn forced her voice to stay calm, to take a sip of her wine.

  “Oh, really? What a pity,” Adriana said blandly.

  “Not in this case,” Caitlyn countered.

  “Better before the wedding than after.” Adriana raised her own glass in a toast. “Though I suppose that means you’re unattached.”

  Caitlyn felt a sense of dread. “You’re not thinking…”

  “Of course I’m thinking,” she said. “Old people still think.”

  “I mean, about Tony or me, or anything like that,” Caitlyn said.

  Mrs. Biddle, in an uncharacteristic display of maternal instinct, had tried to fix Caitlyn up once, when she was sixteen years old, with the grandson of a friend. It had been a disaster. The boy had been pimply and nasty, but headed for Princeton and eager to grope a girl, any girl, before he left for college. Caitlyn had gotten away as quickly as possible.

  “Why would you think that, my dear?” she asked.

  Caitlyn was fairly certain that Tony Biddle was not all that interested in women, at least as dates.

  “I don’t think it would work.”

  “Of course it wouldn’t work. Tony doesn’t date girls. I know that.”

  Caitlyn smiled, feeling relieved. “Well, that’s clear then.”

  “That doesn’t mean that there won’t be plenty of other eligible young men there. In my mind, the best thing after a breakup is to get right back up on the horse. Don’t let you
r heart get too broken, especially if he’s the one that did the breaking.”

  Mrs. Biddle, at a signal from Marion, rose from her seat.

  “Who said he did the breaking?” Caitlyn asked, wondering if it were written all over her face.

  “Just a hunch, dear. I am sure it was all mutual, or whatever other phrase people call it these days. And that you’re in control of the whole situation. Now, are we ready to go?”

  Chapter 23

  The trip into Manhattan did not take that long, as the traffic was relatively light. Mrs. Biddle’s driver, Henry, took the Lincoln Town Car smoothly over the narrow roads of the Merritt Parkway and through the Cross Bronx Expressway into the city. Horatio’s, Tony Biddle’s newest creation, was in the mid-twenties on Park Avenue South. Adriana kept up a breezy stream of small talk that Caitlyn was able to reply to while trying to remember everything she could about Tony Biddle.

  He had once worked in advertising but had spent most of his time in the city going out. Soon he had tired of his day job and had used his family connections to raise money to start a quirky bistro supper club. The restaurant, small and unknown, had quickly become a success, in part because of Tony’s infectious personality.

  Important people, or those whose opinions seemed to matter, came for the food and returned for Tony. The success had given him the ability to expand. The original bistro was long gone, but now his clubs dotted New York, London and San Francisco. He had a little empire on his hands, and that was all Caitlyn needed to know.

  “We’re here now,” Caitlyn said and couldn’t keep the eagerness out of her voice. A club opening wasn’t quite a movie premiere, but there was some of the same atmosphere of anticipation with velvet ropes and security at the door combining to create energy, that buzz of a happening, in the air.

  Caitlyn gave Mrs. Biddle her arm, and together they walked up the short carpet to the door. A flash popped in their faces, surprising Caitlyn, but the other woman was prepared.