by Junie Coffey
Although they were facing each other with only a few empty tables between them, they each seemed oblivious of the other, both reading their paperbacks as they sipped their wine. Nina read over the man’s shoulder as she went by: He snatched up the phone and called his buddy at the police station. He owed him one. His neck was red from the sun. Fresh meat tended to scorch on the first day in paradise. The woman glanced up at Nina and Victor as they passed, then quickly returned her attention to her book. Nina noted the woman’s earrings: green sea glass and silver wire. They looked like Pansy’s handiwork.
“Do you see what I see?” said Victor as he took his seat. He flicked his eyes in the direction of the two solo diners and then raised his eyebrows at Nina. “I think their respective evenings might take a turn toward the unexpected—but not unanticipated—very soon,” he said mischievously.
Nina looked at the pair again. The man had finished his salad and was sitting back in his chair sipping his ice water. He surveyed his fellow diners with some interest now, although his eyes were focused on the far end of the veranda and not on the attractive woman sitting directly in front of him—not that she was easy to see from his vantage point. She had her back to the wall and was facing the water next to a large potted palm. She was reading her novel by candlelight. As before, she struck Nina as more interested in solitude than in meeting someone.
“What evidence would lead you to think that?” Nina asked. “I don’t think they’re fated even to meet on this trip, let alone fall in love.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s wise to leave destiny in the hands of fate, do you?” said Victor, raising his hand to signal a waiter.
“What?” said Nina.
“Well, as they say, God helps those who help themselves, and all that,” said Victor as the waiter arrived.
“Yes, sir?”
“Yes, good evening . . . Samson,” said Victor, reading the young waiter’s name tag. “Samson, would you be so kind as to send a bottle of”—Victor snatched the wine list off the table and quickly scanned it—“Châteauneuf-du-Pape to the lady and gentleman sitting just over there, with my compliments? Thank you so much.”
The waiter looked in the direction of the hapless subjects of Victor’s experiment. He turned back with confusion on his face.
“Excuse me, sir, do you mean the lady and gentleman who are seated at separate tables?” he asked.
“Yes, I mean just that, Samson,” said Victor, enjoying himself. “And Samson, please pour them each a glass, then leave the bottle on the gentleman’s table. Oh—and please bring a bottle of the same magical elixir for us as well, would you? That’s a good man.”
The waiter moved off, and Victor grinned at Nina. He then settled in to watch the tableau he had orchestrated unfold.
“That’s not fair play, Victor,” said Nina. “You have tainted the sample and biased the results. Now we’ll never know what might have happened.”
“Oh, poppycock,” said Victor. “Now the fun begins! You see, if he’s any kind of gentleman, he will be obliged to go over and refill her glass. Then nature will take its course.”
The waiter returned with the bottle of wine for Nina and Victor, then went to fetch the other.
“Here, let me charge your glass, Nina, darling,” said Victor, pouring wine for the two of them. He raised his glass. “To love, by which I mean predictable, instinctual human behavior.”
“To . . . serendipity,” Nina countered, and they drank.
“Oh, look sharp now, Nina. The game is afoot!” said Victor, rubbing his hands together.
The waiter had reappeared and was standing beside the woman’s table, gesturing to the bottle of wine in his hand, then to Victor, then to the man sitting on his own near her, and finally to her glass. The woman looked at Victor and Nina for a moment, then at the man, who was now looking at her, his attention no doubt attracted by the waiter’s arm gestures. She looked alarmed and did not return his smile. Hesitantly, she finally nodded at the waiter; he filled her glass, bowed slightly, and moved on to the man’s table. With the air of someone who was doing something out of duty rather than pleasure, the woman raised her glass in Victor’s direction and gave him a brief smile and a nod before returning her attention intently to her book.
The waiter filled the man’s glass and left the bottle, and the man turned around in his chair to look at Victor and Nina. He nodded his thanks and raised his glass in Victor’s direction before taking a sip. He nodded and smiled at Victor and Nina again. Then he turned toward the woman with his glass raised and seemed to be trying to make eye contact with her, but she was staring intently at the open book in front of her on the table, her glass of expensive French wine untouched beside her. Having failed to make eye contact with her, the man glanced back at Victor and made to get up from his seat.
“Retreat! Retreat!” Victor whispered to Nina, snatching up the bottle of wine and both of their half-filled glasses and ducking through the nearest set of French doors into the lobby. Nina hurried after him as best she could in her high-heeled shoes, catching up with him as he hurried down the steps and into the bar.
“Victor, what on earth?” she said, leaning against a stool, a bit out of breath. Victor deposited the bottle on the polished mahogany bar and handed her glass of wine to her, cool and unruffled.
“He was about to come over and talk to us, and that would ruin it. I don’t want to know him or look at pictures of his kids from his failed marriage or hear about how he won this trip for being top salesman of the year. Or worse yet, have him say that he’s here for the conference and why don’t we all have dinner together tomorrow night? I just want to observe from a distance,” said Victor.
“Hmm,” said Nina.
Victor took a sip of his wine and then moved swiftly across the room to the door that led out onto the veranda. He stuck his head out, peering down the veranda to where the man and woman were sitting. Nina sighed and followed him.
“Where did she go?” said Victor. Nina stuck her head out. The woman’s table was empty. The glass of wine Victor had sent her still sat untouched. A waiter cleared the table as they watched. The man was still seated at his table, but he had been joined by the two young women Nina had seen in the bar the previous night making eyes at Ted. They were all drinking Victor’s wine and chatting amiably.
“That’s nice,” said Nina. “He seems like a nice man. He made an effort to thank you, and he found someone to share the wine with. I like him.”
“Nina. He could be a psychopathic murderer, for all you know,” said Victor.
“And I’m feeling a bit sorry for her and a bit guilty,” said Nina. “She seemed to be having a good time until we came along. I think we—well, you—made her feel uncomfortable, and she left. Looks like your scheme backfired, Victor. She’s run away, and those three are getting along like a house on fire.”
“Those young ladies are not looking for romance, Nina. They’re both wearing wedding rings—they’re strictly in the adventure market. Which is not to say that is always the end of it, but I’d say, judging by the extra attention paid to their hair, freshly manicured nails, and just slightly risqué dresses, they’re friends on holiday. A week stolen out of busy lives in different cities, perhaps. A chance to wear those party frocks that are just a bit too shiny for dinner alfresco on a tropical island but must be worn now or maybe never.”
Nina looked over at the two women, who were laughing and clapping as a waiter flambéed some exotic dessert at their table with a blowtorch. Yes, maybe Victor was right. They weren’t on the prowl; they were just having fun where they found it. Of course Ted had caught their eye. He was very eye-catching.
“Oh, it’s early days yet, Nina, darling,” said Victor, patting her on the shoulder. “Progress has been made. Our subjects are now aware of each other. That’s how it starts. All it takes is proximity and opportunity,” said Victor. “The foundation of all great romances.”
“Gawd, Victor. I still don’t believe you’re
really that cynical. Haven’t you ever been in love?”
He shrugged, drained his glass, and set it on the bar. Then he grabbed the still half-full bottle and gestured for Nina to go ahead of him out the door.
“Shall we? I guess there’s no respectable way to avoid Philip’s grand oration this evening. We might as well join the others,” he said.
Michel’s staff had done a wonderful job arranging the dining room for the banquet. Nina had kept the bride’s choice of beach-themed table decor. Eight round tables were topped with taupe linens and sparkling crystal and silver. Candles in little glass globes filled with beach sand and seashells flickered on each table, and their light reflected on the glass of the mullioned floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the water and the sunset-streaked sky. The windows were open, and the sound of the waves and the soft sea air drifted into the room. Cuban piano music wafted in from the bar. Nina began to think she might actually have a good time at dinner.
“Nina. There you are. Where have you been? We start in fifteen minutes.” It was Philip, stalking toward her across the dining room.
“Everything is fine, Philip,” said Nina. “It’s all ready. The microphone at the podium is working and ready to go when you are. They’ll start serving dinner as soon as everyone finds their seats. I just heard the gong sound for dinner.”
Delegates began to drift in, searching through the tables until they found their names on the place cards. A number of delegates were already sitting and chatting among themselves. The servers in white shirts and black ties began to circulate with bottles of wine.
“Ah yes. Well, then. Let’s sit down,” said Philip.
Nina had taken one for the team and seated herself next to Philip, with Bridget on his other side. She’d put Victor and Sylvia at the same table for the perhaps selfish reason that she liked to talk to them; plus, she figured they’d temper Philip’s bluster. She put Razor there because he seemed to know Victor. And Philip had requested that Bubba and Nancy Delancy be seated at his table. Nina glanced around. She didn’t see any sign of a rum magnate among the gathering group of diners, but then again, she wasn’t quite sure what a rum magnate looked like.
There was a commotion by the door, and there was her answer. A sleek, silvered-haired man with a statuesque, raven-haired woman in a red dress on his arm entered from the veranda. They paused in the doorway and looked around.
“There’s Mr. Delancy now. I must go greet him,” said Philip breathlessly. He hustled across the room toward the pair. Nina could see the tall woman’s eyes widen slightly as Philip bore down on them, but she smiled broadly and laughed good-naturedly as Philip awkwardly grasped and kissed her outstretched hand. She was a good head taller than her husband, all strong curves and bold colors beside him in his understated rich man’s uniform of a well-cut navy-blue blazer and light-gray slacks. The top of his balding head, face, and neck were all deeply tanned with mottled brown patches, indicating a life spent in the sun. Mr. Delancy shook Philip’s hand and nodded curtly, then put his hand on the small of his wife’s back to guide her across the room toward their table.
“Please, please have a seat,” Philip said to Mrs. Delancy, ostentatiously pulling out her chair for her.
“Well, hello you all,” she said, plunking her evening bag down beside her plate and looking around the table with a white-toothed smile. She looked to be in her early sixties and well preserved. Not the ingenue one expected to see on a rich playboy’s arm.
“I’m Nancy,” the woman said, holding her hand out to Razor, who had slipped into his place beside her. He froze. A deer in the headlights again.
“Dr. Razor Hudson, Carmichael Institute of Leisure Studies. Hello,” he said, pumping her hand rapidly.
“Very nice to meet you, Razor,” said Nancy, gently freeing her hand. “What an unusual name. How did you come by it? I’m guessing your mama didn’t name her little bitty baby Razor.”
“He earned that nickname the hard way,” said Victor, jumping in quickly as Razor squirmed in his seat, going a bit red in the face. “A razor-sharp mind that cuts through the fluff and dross that lies thick on the field we work.” Victor raised his glass in Razor’s direction.
“I see. Very interesting. I’ll be on my toes, then,” said Nancy. “And who are you?” she said, turning to Bridget.
Victor leaned over and whispered in Nina’s ear, “Old Razor gave himself that name a year or two back. Product of an unhappy youth, I’d guess. I’m all in favor of reinventing oneself. More power to him.”
“Lots of fluff on the field you work. What’s your specialty?” Bubba asked Victor gruffly.
“My area of expertise is workingmen’s clubs in London―from 1890 to 1945, to be precise,” said Victor. “I also teach history to young people who text one another about their evening plans while I stand in front of them describing how their great-great-grandparents died in the hundreds of thousands to rid the world of the Nazi scourge.”
“What? You run a club? Who’s your liquor supplier?”
“I study working men’s recreational clubs in England around the turn of the century. Pool, bingo, dances on a Saturday night. That kind of thing.”
“That’s a job, then, is it?” asked Bubba.
“I’m afraid so,” replied Victor.
“Victor, you are far too dismissive of your own work. I read your last book. It was wonderful,” said Sylvia from across the table. “It captured a piece of history we don’t want to forget. Our finest hour, some might say. When we tire of it, we’ll need some kind of blueprint to find our way back from this video-game imitation of life we’ve created for ourselves.”
“You are too kind, Sylvia,” replied Victor. “I think this island is the perfect antidote to all the excesses of modern life. I haven’t been able to establish e-mail contact with my office since I arrived, and more importantly, they haven’t been able to reach me. Well done, Nina,” he said, smiling and raising his glass in Nina’s direction.
Nina smiled and sipped her wine along with the others.
“I’m in rum,” said Bubba brusquely. “We make and sell six million cases of the stuff annually. It was my grandfather’s business. Then my father’s. I thought I’d be my own man. I’d show them. I liked fast cars, so I invested heavily in a car factory up in Canada. The Bricklin. Ever heard of it? Neither has anyone else. I lost a bundle there. So, I went to work for my father. Doubled the business in the last decade. Turns out I have a knack for it. But now everyone’s becoming a whiskey connoisseur. Obsessed with being the only one in their gang with a bottle in their cupboard that was made in small batches ten years ago in some dank old castle on a Scottish island. The rum’s still flowing, but it’s flatlining.” He shrugged. “Still keeps us in groceries, though, eh, Nance?”
He wife glanced over at him and smiled vaguely, then turned back to her animated conversation with Sylvia. Bridget was listening eagerly, her hands folded on the table in front of her, chiming in with an occasional comment or peal of laughter.
“Well, I’m doing my part to keep your enterprise afloat,” Victor said to Bubba. Bubba nodded and chuckled appreciatively.
Nancy turned to her other side and engaged Philip in conversation, and Philip looked pleased. Nina sat back in her chair and sighed contentedly. The planning and organizing were over, and things seemed to be unfolding nicely. Now she could just relax and enjoy herself. Maybe she’d take in Sylvia’s talk on women explorers and the lecture on Caribbean history by a professor from Barbados tomorrow. She turned her head and listened to Victor tell amusing war stories from the classroom while the meal was served.
“I’ll have the jerk chicken, please,” she heard Philip tell the waiter. “I am allergic to shellfish. I’m surprised my conference organizer put lobster on the menu tonight, knowing that.”
Did Nina know Philip was allergic to shellfish when she and Josie discussed the menu? No, this was the first time she’d heard that, she thought. Anyway, she was sure the inn had sent messages to
all the guests asking them their food preferences and any allergies before they arrived. Nina pretended not to hear Philip.
Once the waitstaff had cleared their dinner plates and served dessert, Philip began to stir in his seat, straightening his bow tie and looking around the room at the gathered delegates. It was time for his keynote speech to kick off the conference. He had arranged for a good-natured Canadian specialist in culinary tourism to introduce him. As she finished telling the audience how much she was looking forward to his remarks, he pushed back his chair and scooped up the sheaf of notes from beside his plate. He marched to the front of the room, then stood at the podium surveying the gathering before him.
“Well,” he began, “here we are, ladies and gentlemen. The world’s leading lights in the field of leisure studies. Many of us now distinguished scholars with years of experience and numerous accolades to our credit. But once upon a time, we were all keen and hungry. Bright new stars on the hunt for the truth.”
“Bit of a mixed-metaphor salad to start. Vintage Philip so far,” muttered Sylvia, reaching for her glass and taking a generous mouthful of wine.
“I’m still hungry,” said Bridget. “If he gave me a raise, I could afford to eat once in a while.” She snorted at her own wit.
“Yes, here we are,” continued Philip. “Once upon a time, relentless in our quest to understand ourselves and our fellow human beings. Now—now, we are content to tuck in to a fine dinner at a luxury hotel and call it work!”
Nina turned to Victor. “This whole thing was his idea,” she said.
“My message to all of you this evening is simple,” Philip said, strafing the guests with an intense glare. “We, as a profession and as members of the human race, need to get back to what matters. Let me tell you why.”
“Wait. He skipped right over the what matters part. I need to know what matters before I decide whether or not I want to get back to it,” said Victor.
