by Karen M Cox
“No,” I replied, tight-lipped. “Knightley worked for my father. Daddy and Mr. Knightley—the elder one—were the firm’s founding partners.”
“I remember now. My mother told me. She knows everything about the law practices in this area. She worked for my uncle as a paralegal for twenty years. If you want to know anything about the lawyers in this town, you just ask my mother. She knows it all.”
“I’m sure.”
“Your father must be the poor man who had the stroke. How is he doing? I heard he doesn’t practice law anymore.”
“Yes, my father has retired.”
“At what facility does he reside now?”
“I care for him at home.”
“At home? My goodness, what a lot of work that must be! And Timmy tells me you’re still in college. How ever do you have time for it? Have you heard of Stone Point? It’s very new, very state of the art—a convalescent home off Tates Creek Pike. They do wonderful things there. You simply must look into it.”
“He went to a rehab hospital right after the stroke, but his progress plateaued so…”
“Oh no!” Edie insisted. “Stone Point will do him good. I’m sure of it. I know some of the administrators in charge. A word from me and you could get him moved right in, maybe within a week. Bless his heart!”
“That’s not possible. He wouldn’t want to go, and I could never turn my father from his home.”
“Oh. Well.” Edie sniffed.
An awkward silence ensued.
“Emma,” Tim announced, “Edie enjoys tennis as much as you do. She was on Transylvania’s college team.”
“You play tennis?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Edie’s words kept rolling out of her mouth like barrels down a hillside.
“It’s been a while since I was truly in top tennis form. It requires constant practice, you know, and life just seems to get in the way these days. I would love to get back into it, I mean, really get back into it properly. I was in the best shape of my life when I played tennis, and if Timmy keeps spoiling me the way he has with trips and dinners out, you’ll have to roll me out the door.” Her snorting laugh filled the room as she leaned over and patted my arm, nearly spilling her drink. “I know! You and I should start a tennis club!”
“A what?”
“A tennis club. I’m sure you’re a member at the country club. We could petition them to start a ladies’ tennis team. What a fabulous way to have fun and stay in shape.”
“I’m more of a runner these days. If you’ll excuse me.” I turned away, barely hearing Edie’s “Well!” and Elton’s soothing response as I fled the scene.
Twenty-Six
The cold abated, and the mercurial range of weather that defined March in Kentucky arrived in the roar of a thunderstorm, the traditional “in like a lion.” When the weather was warm enough, and the rain was confined to a vague, misty veil over the trees, Frank continued to join me on my morning runs. We had a certain route he favored, always passing the old Victorian Taylor family house on Hartfield Road. More than once, I thought I saw an upstairs curtain yanked closed as we ran by.
Finally, one morning I couldn’t hold in my snicker any more.
“What?” Frank asked. “Do these shorts make my butt look big?”
“Nothing could make your butt look big, Mr. Baseball.”
He grinned at me over his shoulder.
“No, I just think I saw Helen watch us from her upstairs window for the umpteenth time this month. Nosey, nosey, nosey.”
“Oh, really?” he drawled, slowing to look up at the window. He saluted the now closed curtain and turned to face forward again. “That reminds me, are you going to the big birthday bash tomorrow?”
“You mean the party Helen is throwing for Jane’s birthday?” I took in a breath and let it out in a rush. “Of course, I’m going. It’s only polite.”
“Yeah, me too. Dad and Nina are going, so no getting out of it for me.”
“Poor, pitiful Frank.”
“Life is rough.”
“Is that why you cut short your golf trip?”
“Yes, dammit!”
I shook my head and clucked my tongue in a mock scold.
“I know. I’m a brat, but that’s just the way I am, I’m afraid. When something catches my attention, I run with it. Terrible quirk.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes it’s better to take a chance first, ask questions later. I’ve been known to do that myself,” I said.
“We’re very much alike in that, aren’t we?”
I didn’t respond, doubting the veracity of that rhetorical question. It was highly unlikely I would ever get to leave town for an impulsive weekend jaunt the way Frank had.
“Have you seen the exalted Jane Fairfax in the Coles’ production of Camelot?” he asked.
“No, but I’m sure she does a lovely job. How about you? Have you seen it?”
“Oh, I saw it opening night.”
I stopped running, surprised. “Really?”
Frank paused and turned back to me. “What?” Then he looked away, almost flustered. “Um, one of the suppliers had season tickets he wasn’t using. So, I took Delores and Helen. I thought they might like it.”
“Well now, that was very gentlemanly of you, Frank.”
“I have my moments.” He turned back and continued down the path at a walk. “You really ought to see the show before next month’s fundraiser.”
“Fundraiser?”
“Yeah, some kind of swanky, cocktail party thing. Nina and Bob got a card about it. Check your mail—I’m sure you got one too.”
“Hmm.”
“Hey, I have a great idea. Since you haven’t seen Camelot yet, why don’t I take you?”
“You? Take me?”
“Sure! We’ll make an evening of it—dinner and the theater. What do you say?”
He’s finally asking me out. Frank Weston, you certainly take your time!
I had a moment’s indecision: Should I lead him on when I wasn’t yet sure if I wanted this to go anywhere? Nina and Bob had sort of been hinting this could happen, but could we really rekindle a relationship—revive what had been a tepid high school interest at best and make it more? I certainly liked him enough to go out with him a time or two. And he was pretty much a hunk. And I had nothing better to do.
No harm in finding out.
“Thank you, Frank. I’d love to go. It sounds like fun.”
“I’m all about fun, Miss Woodhouse.”
I laughed and took off running ahead of him, making him chase me all the way to my driveway.
A chorus of “Happy Birthday to You” rose above the din in the Taylor house. Jane’s face glowed in the light of the birthday candles, looking pleased but vaguely uncomfortable with all the attention. Encouraged by her three glasses of champagne, Helen clapped her hands and gave her young cousin a tearful, smiling hug.
I nibbled on a Benedictine sandwich with Frank Weston by my side. “Isn’t it an odd thing for a Broadway actress—who until recently made her living parading about in a skimpy chorus line costume—to look that awkward as the guest of honor at a little neighborhood party?”
“Artistic types are odd, I’m told.” He eyed my sandwich and wrinkled his nose. “Yuck, Emma, how do you eat that stuff?”
“I like cucumbers. I like cream cheese. And Benedictine is a Southern tradition.”
“I’ve never seen it anywhere but here in Kentucky, and I’ve been all over the South.”
I shrugged.
Mrs. Cole joined us, a Budweiser can grasped firmly in her hand. “Great party!”
“Yes, lovely party.” I glanced around at the old but sturdy furniture that had been there ever since I could remember. The usual layer of dust on the end tables was missing though.
I’m glad Helen asked me for that cleaning lady recommendation. I don’t know if it was in her budget, but it was worth it.
Mrs. Cole swept her baby-blue chiffon scarf over her shou
lder, just barely missing one of the candles Helen had set on the sideboard. “Jane certainly scored a great birthday gift this year.” Mrs. Cole blinked, showing off her sky-blue eyeshadow.
“Oh, she did? What was it?” I draped the loose scarf end over Mrs. Cole’s other shoulder and let out a sigh of relief that the poor woman hadn’t caught herself on fire.
“The piano. You haven’t heard about the piano?”
I shook my head. “Do tell.”
“It’s sitting in the room right behind you. Arrived yesterday.”
I stepped into the tiny parlor and realized Mrs. Cole was right. The furniture had been crowded together on one side of the room, and a baby grand filled the space: sleek and shiny—the glaring contrast of white keys and black case trumpeting its presence.
Mrs. Cole leaned over and whispered dramatically in my ear. “No one knows who Jane’s benefactor is.”
“It’s obvious to me—Mike Dixon sent it. He’s her fiancé after all,” I replied.
“She says it’s not from him. We wondered if a fan of the theater sent it.”
“Well, that’s a little creepy.”
“Jane doesn’t seem creeped out. She said it was probably a surprise from Natalie Campbell’s family. They’re terribly wealthy.”
“Could be.”
“I suppose we’ll know soon enough. I’m twelve ounces light. Can I get you one?”
“No thank you, Mrs. Cole.”
“You don’t drink beer?”
“More of a wine girl.” I held up my glass.
After Mrs. Cole stepped away, I stood beside the piano, staring at it, as if I could make it tell me where it came from. I felt, rather than saw Frank sidle up beside me, heard his smile traveling across the air between us.
“Why are you grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Frank?”
“Who me? No reason. Just wondering about the mysterious piano, like everyone else.”
“The Campbells were very generous to send her such an expensive gift.”
“Do you really think it was them?”
“Who else? Jane says Mike Dixon didn’t send it.”
“Maybe another admirer. Someone she knew in New York, someone who didn’t want her to forget him. Perhaps our Jane has a deep, dark secret, hmm?”
“Perhaps.” The idea of sweet, revered Jane Fairfax embroiled in a romantic scandal intrigued me.
He turned to look behind him and stepped back abruptly from our tête-à-tête. Jane’s eyes were on us, her expression unreadable. Frank looked down at his hand resting on the piano and then saluted Jane with his glass. She turned away.
Helen clinked a spoon against her glass until the room grew quiet. “Jane, dear, would you be so kind as to entertain us with a song?”
There were several murmurs of agreement. Jane stood for a moment like a deer caught in headlights, but then she smiled graciously at her cousin. “If it would please you, I’d be happy to start us off.” Jane eased into the room around Frank and me and sat at the piano bench.
“What would you all like to hear?”
Frank spoke up. “How about something from A Chorus Line?”
“As you wish, Mr. Weston.”
“Mr. Weston? Who are you talking to? My father’s way over there.”
She only smiled and began to noodle up and down the keyboard. The noodling faded into a progression of chords as the party guests began to squeeze into the parlor. Jane opened her mouth to sing, and the room fell silent as she launched into a rendition of “What I Did for Love.”
I looked from one rapt expression to the next as Jane’s voice filled the tiny space. Well of course her voice is lovely—it should be, as many voice lessons as she took. Bob Weston was actually listening, instead of chatting up the people next to him. Nina exchanged glances with me, a happy grin on her face. She raised her eyebrows and nodded toward the piano, mouthing, “Wow!” Frank stood absolutely still, as if bewitched. Even George had a smile of approval on his face, and I was suddenly, inexplicably, annoyed.
Jane ended the song, and even though several people asked her to sing another, she handed off the piano to one of her Camelot cast mates with a smooth elegance I begrudgingly admired. Jane Fairfax had gone on to bigger and better things in New York, and she had learned them well.
I joined George and Julianne as the next piano tune filled the air. “Not going to grace us with a song, Em?” George asked.
“Not in the presence of the cast of Camelot.”
“I didn’t know you played the piano,” Julianne asked, surprised.
“I don’t. At least not very well—a fact of which George is quite aware. A few lessons in the distant past do not a virtuoso make.”
“Two years of childhood piano lessons produced a decent amount of competence,” George said, smiling gently. “You have some natural talent. I’ve heard you play many times, and you could hold your own, even among the ‘cast of Camelot’.”
George and I held each other’s gaze for a moment. “Thank you,” I said in a soft voice.
“I took lessons as a child too,” Julianne piped in. “My mother insisted, but I never practiced enough to become really accomplished.”
I turned to her. “How long did you study the piano?”
“Ten years.”
My wine went sour in my mouth, but I was saved from having to formulate a response when Jane, Frank, Nina, and Bob joined us.
Bob’s booming voice overtook the music coming from the parlor. “It’s just amazing to have so much talent in one room! You have a lovely voice, Jane. I can’t wait to hear you play at the theater fundraiser next month.”
“Thank you, Mr. Weston.”
“Call me Bob, please. Yes, you’ve got quite a talent there. The scuttlebutt was not the least bit exaggerated.”
“I’ve heard that Camelot is doing very well,” Nina added.
“I think the Coles are pleased,” Jane answered.
“I’m looking forward to seeing it myself. I’ve heard such good things,” I said.
“You and Mary Jo on a girls’ night at the theater? Look out, Lexington!” George took a sip of his beer, grinning around the neck of the bottle.
“Oh no. I’m not going with Mary Jo. Frank said he’d take me.”
George made a little strangling noise that caught Julianne’s attention. She patted his back. “Okay there, honey?”
“Yes, fine. Beer went down the wrong way.”
“I’m not sure how many shows still have tickets available.” Jane’s lips barely moved, and she looked away from Frank.
“I’m sure I can find some somewhere,” he said. “There were plenty last week. Or so I heard.”
I gave his shoulder a friendly nudge. “Then you should have gotten your tickets last week, before you asked me to go. Oh, that’s right. You weren’t in town last week. You were soaking up the Florida sunshine.”
“I wouldn’t trade my trip for all the tea in China. I love to travel, and I needed some fun in the sun. In fact, I’m going back in a couple of weeks—for work, of course. You should go with me, Emma. Don’t you have a spring break coming up?”
I laughed at him. “I can’t just take off on a trip like that.”
“Why not?”
“Well…” I counted on my fingers. “I’ve got a paper to write. And I have a meeting with a landscape architect. We’re re-doing the herb and flower garden on the east end of the house. There’s an issue with the pool plumbing that needs to be addressed. Daddy has an appointment with the eye doctor, and—”
“Well, everyone deserves to escape the daily grind sometime.” Frank glanced around the circle, ignoring Jane’s and George’s stoic faces, and reveling in his father’s and stepmother’s indulgent smiles. “If spring break isn’t an option, maybe you can tag along when I go up to New York in a couple of months, and I can show you around. Sort of a graduation gift.”
“We’ll see.” I cast a nervous look around the circle, intuiting some odd undercurrents in the group. Fran
k could be uncomfortably familiar sometimes.
Thankfully, Julianne saved the moment with an anecdote about a colleague who was from New York, and I excused myself to get another glass of wine.
I stood at the counter, looking at the wine labels, and turned when I heard footsteps behind me.
“Oh hey, Professor Knightley. I thought you were drinking beer tonight.”
“Emma, you aren’t seriously considering going on a vacation with Frank Weston, are you?”
I blinked up at him in surprise. “Oh that? That was just Frank being Frank. That’s all that was.”
“I’m relieved you didn’t take his silly school-boy drivel seriously. Makes everyone uncomfortable. I can’t believe the audacity, suggesting such a thing in front of your aunt Nina.”
“I don’t think she thought a thing of it. She knows how he is. Speaks first, thinks later. It’s part of his charm.”
“Yes. Charming.” He snorted and shook his head.
I knew I should keep quiet, but curiosity was getting the best of me. Frank’s suggestion that an admirer had sent Jane the piano, and Nina’s idea that George was enamored with Jane kept bugging me. “Wasn’t that nice of the Campbells to give Jane a piano of her own?”
“It was badly done, in my opinion.”
“Oh?”
“The parlor is stuffed full with that overgrown monstrosity now. An upright or console would have sounded just fine, given Jane an instrument to practice on, and not inconvenienced Helen and Delores nearly so much. Very impractical. I’m surprised the Campbells would do such a thing. They must not know Jane’s situation very well.”
I grinned and poured myself a half a glass of wine. I stepped over to the side of the room and beckoned George to follow me. He leaned one hand against the wall and inclined his head to hear me whisper better.
“Did you get an invitation to this fundraiser at the Coles?”
“I did.”
“Oh. And are you going?”
“Probably. It’s for the Actors’ Guild, and my mother has given them lots of support over the years.”
“Yes, of course. I’d forgotten. That makes sense, then—that you got an invite, I mean.”
