by Karen Welch
At the sight of its contents, the woman gasped dramatically. “Exquisite! Come with me and we’ll choose a style first, then a fabric. Did I understand you to say this is to be worn to the symphony’s opening concert? Late September, correct?” She steered Peg into an adjoining room where a variety of garments hung along one wall.
“That’s right. I have a silver fur I’d like to wear with the dress also. It’s a little bit old fashioned, but it belonged to my mother and my father wants me to wear it.” Passing the box to Kendall, she lowered her eyes for an instant, but not before he saw them dull slightly. “You saw it, Kendall, in the painting, remember?” she asked softly. He was struck by the idea that the fur must represent something to Michael, but Peg seemed unsure about wearing it. He was also struck by his immediate desire to console her, to assure her she needn’t do anything that brought such sadness to her eyes.
The woman was busily pulling gowns from the rack, and he noticed Peg eyeing them skeptically. At the sight of a red velvet confection with billowing sleeves and wide lace collar, she actually cringed, but remained silent.
“Now, we’ll put you in a fitting room. Keep in mind these are just to determine what style will suit you and your necklace best. Then we can talk about fabric and color.” Whisking Peg into a curtained alcove, she turned to him with an inquisitive and somewhat forced smile. “Will you be the lucky young man escorting Miss Shannon to the symphony?”
“No. I’m afraid not. I’m merely a relative, visiting for a few days.”
From beyond the curtain, Peg called, “I’m sorry, Miss Devon, this is my cousin, Kendall Gregg. I asked him to come along to give me his opinion. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. A gentleman can often pinpoint the most flattering style from his masculine perspective. Please, Mr. Gregg, do sit down by the mirrors over there. We’ll have Miss Shannon come out to model for us. Are you ready to be zipped, my dear?” It appeared the fact that he was a relative enhanced his standing with Miss Devon, who had initially, he’d felt sure, been sizing up his jacket with disdain for its lowly off-the-rack origins.
Peg emerged wearing a gown of pale green with long tight sleeves and a full skirt. The neckline was cut low in a sharp diagonal. While he found it at first glance stunning, he sensed Peg was uncomfortable. When she stood in front of the triple mirrors, she tugged at the neckline with a frown. “I’m not sure. How does the necklace look with it?”
He joined her on the low platform, taking the necklace from its box. “May I?” Carefully placing it around her neck, he fastened the clasp with trembling fingers. “I’m sure I’ve never held anything this valuable in my hands, other than my violin, perhaps. I must admit, it makes me nervous.” The momentary contact with her skin had more likely been to blame. Too late, he questioned the wisdom of joining Peg in a small, enclosed space where she would be repeatedly taking off her clothes.
“I don’t know,” she was saying. “It feels too. . .the lines are. . .too severe, I guess. Let’s try something else.” She stood still in front of him and he realized she was waiting for him to remove the necklace. He shot himself a stern glance in the mirror, much the sort of thing Simon would have, had he been on hand.
The process was repeated with three other dresses, none of which seemed to please her. “This is silly.” She turned from side to side in a gown of dark blue crepe which was even by his standards too revealing. “I have several perfectly good dresses left from all those deb balls, but Dad insists I have to have something new for this.” She shrugged her shoulders in obvious frustration. “One more and then I think I’ll give up for today. I’m sorry to be so much trouble, but none of these are what I had in mind.”
“What did you have in mind? Maybe you could describe it to her.” Unclasping the necklace yet again, he leaned close, out of earshot of the seamstress, who had been beckoned by one of her assistants to the workroom door.
“Something softer, I think. And I don’t like the sapphires with other colors. I sort of pictured white or maybe silver, not shiny, but something to pick up on the diamonds and the white gold.” She shrugged again. “Oh, I don’t know.”
On a blind mission spurred by his desire to see her happy again, he went back to the rack while she returned to the dressing room. He had no knowledge of women’s fashion beyond what he admired when it stood before him gracing the right sort of figure. As he fingered the gowns, he thought of what Peg had said and tried to apply it to each one. She was right, the necklace would look best against a neutral, something that would not detract from the creamy perfection of her skin. The dress she’d worn last night set off her hair and eyes, but was probably the wrong shade for the silver stole. When his hand came to rest on a gown of pale blue-grey crepe, he pulled it out for closer inspection. The neckline was a soft sort of drape, possibly low enough to show off the necklace. Not at all sure how it would look on a feminine form, he took it off the rack and carried it to the dressing room.
“Have a look at this, Peg. Any closer to what you had in mind?” Her arm appeared through the curtains and he draped the dress over it, forcing back the vision of what lay beyond.
“Oh.” He held his breath for her rejection. “This is beautiful. I love the color. Hold on, I’ll be right out.”
When she appeared, her face was lit with the kind of smile he hadn’t seen in the past hour. “Ah. Lovely!” It would be too much to expect him to hold back at least that much. Delicious, delectable, even yummy, would better describe what she and the dress together accomplished.
“I like it. Put the necklace on me again.” The dress, filled with Peg, took on her precise shape. Without being overly provocative, it seamlessly hugged each curve, falling in a graceful swirl at her feet.
She turned from side to side, fingering the necklace and toying with the drape which it turned out rested just off her shoulders. When Miss Devon reappeared, she seemed momentarily taken aback at the sight of Peg in a dress she had not selected for her.
“I like this one. It’s a little big, but in the right size, I think this will be perfect.”
“Perhaps in another color? That’s a very dull shade for a girl your age.”
He felt a swell of pride when Peg replied, “No. I want this. It’s just what I had imagined. Kendall, you like it don’t you?”
“I’m certainly no expert, but yes, if I saw you across a crowded room wearing that dress, my first thought would be to fight my way through the throng of admiring men for a closer look.” Their eyes met in the mirror and for a moment he thought he’d gone too far. Peg blinked at him, as though doubting his sincerity, and then grinned.
“Why, Kendall, that’s a compliment, isn’t it?” She laughed, not at him, but with what seemed to be real appreciation for his ridiculous spewing.
“You wanted my unbiased opinion, didn’t you?” He folded his arms over his chest and gave her reflection a long look up and down. “It’s hardly the thing for climbing trees, but in the proper setting, you could certainly pass for a swan.”
Chapter Twelve
Measurements taken and her dress ordered, they stepped out of the shop to find Simon standing at attention next to the car. Peg passed him the velvet box with a smile. “Here, you can take this home to Adamson with the assurance that we haven’t replaced it with a fake. And now I want to get some lunch. The Plaza, I think, Simon, and then we won’t need you for the rest of the afternoon.”
“The Plaza?” Kendall slid in next to her, aware that she had again left him very little room.
“Yes. I said I wanted to show you off. The Palm Court should do the trick.”
“Are you sure I’m dressed appropriately? I don’t want to embarrass you.”
She turned appraising eyes on him, her brows drawn together in a scowl. “Um. No, I think you’ll do. A necktie isn’t required at lunch.”
Reaching in the breast pocket of his jacket, he drew out a long silk scarf and wound it inside his collar, tying it in a loose knot. “I keep this for
emergencies. Keeps me from feeling quite so naked. How’s that?”
“Perfect. Very, very British I’d say and definitely yummy. Here, let me.” Reaching up, she tucked the ends of the scarf more securely in the open shirt front, her cool fingers grazing his skin. “There. You don’t by any chance smoke a pipe do you?” Her face was inches from his, so close he felt her breath on his face. For an instant he grasped her hand as she withdrew it from his collar. Her eyes widened slightly before falling to stare at his fingers wrapped around hers.
“What? No, sorry. Never tried one.” Gently, he tucked her hand in the bend of his arm with an avuncular pat. “Question.”
“Yes?”
“Why did you choose to have Miss Devon create this very special dress? I’d have thought a girl like you wore only haute couture.” It was a question he’d meant to ask earlier, and he was grateful that his addled brain produced it now.
“Oh, no. I mean I have some of that. But Dad likes to patronize people with a reputation for good craftsmanship, if not especially well-known. Miss Devon comes highly recommended by the wife of one of our board members.” Wrapping her fingers more securely around his bicep, she added, “What do you mean ‘a girl like me’?”
“Oh, you know, wealthy, privileged, moving in only the best society. An American princess.” His tone was warmer than he’d intended, bordering on affectionate. If Peg noticed, she didn’t let on.
“Oh. Well, that’s fair, I guess. But I buy most of my clothes off the rack. And that necklace is the first really expensive piece of jewelry I’ve ever had. Well, there are my pearls, but I don’t think they look as valuable as they are. I don’t go around with a tiara in my hair, or even sleep in silk pajamas, you know.”
How she had leapt from jewelry to sleepwear, he had no idea. “Ah, well that is good to know. Now tell me about this restaurant. Another of your favorites?”
“The Palm Court is everybody’s favorite, if they want to see and be seen. We’re almost there. Surely you’ve heard of the Plaza Hotel?”
If he had, it was only as the kind of place he’d never have access to. “Of course. I just never expected to have lunch there. You’re spoiling me, Peg.”
“Good. Now just stick with me and let’s see who we can be seen by in here.”
They crossed the lobby to the broad entrance of the aptly named restaurant. Glancing up from his podium, the maître d’ recognized Peg on sight, his fleshy face spreading into an instant and slightly agonized smile. “Miss Shannon! We weren’t expecting you today!” He waved in the direction of a line of well-dressed patrons awaiting their tables.
“I know, Max, but my cousin is visiting from London and I felt he just had to experience Saturday lunch at the Palm Court. Can you find us a table where I can show him off a little bit? Please?” Peg had crossed her hands on the edge of the podium, gifting Max with an imploring gaze the poor man was no match for. After a moment of blinking down at her, Max flicked his wrist, prompting the appearance of a pair of liveried waiters. A discreet word in the ears of his minions and he turned back to Peg with a blinding smile.
“If you don’t mind waiting just a minute or two, I think I can find something, for you.” Where Miss Devon had merely gushed, Max was practically drooling obsequiousness all over his morning coat. When he dragged his eyes from Peg to give him an appraising up and down, Kendall sensed that here was another who would search him and find him wanting.
“Max, this is Kendall Gregg, my cousin. That’s two l’s and two g’s, by the way.” Max immediately took up his pen to make a notation on the reservation sheet.
Barely a minute later they were led ceremoniously to a fountain-side table in the center of the room. A waiter skidded into place, summoned by another flick of the wrist from Max. “Will you be having your usual, Miss Shannon, or would you like to see a menu today?”
“I’ll have the usual to drink, please, but bring us a couple of menus. My cousin’s never eaten here, you see. This is his first visit to New York. What would you like to drink, Kendall? They can mix anything you want, or I’m sure they have a good single malt on hand.”
“Dare I risk your ‘usual’?” He tried not to crane his neck for a better look at the spectacular stained glass ceiling overhead.
“I’m just having a strawberry daiquiri, minus the rum, of course.”
“That sounds fine. I’ll have the same, thank you.”
“With or without the rum, sir?”
“Without. Best to keep a clear head around this young lady, you know.”
The man actually bowed. “Very good.”
“Oh, and I’ll need a telephone, please.” Peg had turned her attention to the crowded room, candidly scanning for familiar faces, Kendall assumed. The waiter evaporated with another bow.
“Was it my imagination, or did I just see them physically moving this table here for you?”
Eyes shimmering in an otherwise straight face, she asked, “Did they? I didn’t notice.”
“You must have known when you staged that little performance that poor Max would move heaven and earth to accommodate you? Or is he accustomed to your showing up without a reservation and expecting the best spot in the house? And why on earth would he need to know how I spell my name?”
“Really Kendall, that’s a lot of questions! But yes, I knew Max would do his best for us, even without a reservation. As to the spelling, I wanted to be sure they get your name right in the newspaper, that’s all.”
“Newspaper?” His hiss was louder than he’d intended, but thankfully covered by the string trio situated beneath the arch of towering palms.
“Of course. That’s why I asked to be seated here. There’s always a photographer in places like this prowling around taking shots for the social pages. I’m sure they keep a space open with the caption all ready. You know, ‘Miss Anna Margaret Shannon, daughter of millionaire banker and philanthropist Michael Shannon, lunching at fill-in-the-blank restaurant with fill-in-the-blank name.’ This time it will be ‘her cousin, Londoner Kendall Gregg” or something along those lines. Nothing scandalous, just the usual.”
“Your usual, perhaps, but hardly mine.”
The waiter returned, reverently placing a telephone on the table and plugging it into a jack in the floor nearby. “Will there be anything else, Miss Shannon?”
“No. Thank you, Harold. Is that Mrs. Smith in the corner over there?”
The waiter raised a conspiratorial brow. “Mrs. Smith? Why, yes, miss, I believe it is.”
“Would you mind giving her my regards and mentioning that I’d love for her to meet my cousin?”
“Not at all, miss.” Another bow and he disappeared into the palms.
“What was all that about?”
“Oh, just someone I’d like to introduce you to. Look in the corner to your left. See the woman sitting there, with the little dog on the table?” He glanced as casually as he could manage over his shoulder. The woman, dripping in chiffon draperies and wearing enough pearl strands stacked around her neck and wrists to open a jewelers’, was absorbed in feeding morsels from her plate to an attentive Pomeranian. He looked back to Peg for further enlightenment. “That’s Mrs. Charles Smith, also known as Natalia Romanov, a second cousin of the last Czar. Or so she tells everyone. She’s a wonderful character, whoever she is. I thought you might like to meet some ‘real’ royalty.” Picking up the receiver, she began to dial. “I should check on Dad.”
He tried not to eavesdrop on the conversation, apparently with Adamson, but it was impossible to ignore her. Her voice had dropped to a tone of genuine concern, as she asked softly, “Is Dad resting? And did he remember to take his pills? All of them?” Her lips twisted in a little pout. “I know, but we have to keep nagging, don’t we? Just tell him when he gets up that we’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner.” When she rang off, Kendall watched her struggle to shake off her obviously lowered mood.
“Everything all right?”
“Fine.” Head high, face
composed, she met his eyes almost defiantly. “I’m just afraid that Dad will overdo with everyone here. He forgets that he’s supposed to be taking things easier now.”
“I’d heard he hasn’t been well for the past year or so. Something to do with his heart?”
“Yes. He really scared me. Not a heart attack, it turned out, but a problem with one of his valves. He has to take better care of himself, not something my father takes as seriously as I do. Thank goodness for Adamson. He keeps an eagle eye on Dad, but of course he always has.”
Their drinks arrived, enormous creations sporting paper umbrellas and speared strawberries. Peg took a delicate sip through her straw, closing her eyes in appreciation. “Try it. I’m sure the rum adds something, but I love these. Especially on a hot day.” He was about to agree, after his first taste, when the waiter again sidled up to their table.
“Mr. Gregg? There’s a call for you, sir. If you’ll just pick up the receiver, you’ll be connected to your party.”
“Who on earth would call me? I don’t know a soul in New York, other than you, of course.” He eyed the phone suspiciously.
“You won’t know until you answer, will you?” Peg lifted the receiver and held it out to him. “Go ahead. It won’t bite you.”
“Gregg here.”
“Kendall?”
“Mother! What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, dear. Other than the fact that I’ve barely seen you since we arrived. I thought surely you’d stay in this morning to practice. I know how religious you are about your practice time.” He recognized the tone, which said far more than words with regard to her concern.
“I’m having lunch with Peg. Which you already know since I assume you wheedled our location from Mr. Adamson. I will practice, Mother, but we are supposed to be on vacation, aren’t we?” He caught Peg’s eye across the table and winked.
“Of course, dear. Now listen to me for a moment. I know you probably can’t say anything, but I do hope Peg isn’t taking up too much of your time. A young girl like that, well I’m sure she’s used to everyone catering to her slightest whim. Don’t let her take advantage of you, Kendall.” Dropping his eyes, he ground his teeth at the irony of the suggestion.
