Susannah smiled and held out her hand, just barely managing to restrain the impulse to curtsy. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Ryan."
Millicent Ryan returned the slight pressure of Susannah's fingers and murmured that the pleasure was all hers. "Matthew, dear," she said, without releasing Susannah's hand, "after you hang up Ms. Bennington's coat, would you go into the kitchen and tell Gertie she can serve the hors de oeuvres whenever she's ready? Ms. Bennington and I will be in the front parlor—" she drew Susannah forward by the hand she still held, giving it a little pat as she did so "—getting acquainted. We'll wait for you to pour the sherry," she added, the words drifting over her Chanel-clad shoulder as she led her son's guest across the wide foyer and into the front parlor as Matt headed toward the kitchen to do her bidding.
"Please, sit down," she said, letting go of Susannah's hand to gesture toward a burgundy brocade Victorian settee. She sank gracefully into one of the matching wing chairs arranged opposite it, crossed her ankles, clasped her hands in her lap in approved boarding-school fashion, and smiled at Susannah. "Have you and Matthew known each other long, Ms. Bennington?"
"No, not long," Susannah said, having already resolved to keep to the truth as much as possible. "Just a couple of weeks."
"Oh?" Her glance sharpened. "Then you must be new down at City Hall."
Susannah frowned. "City Hall?" she began, and then her brow cleared. "Oh, I see what you mean. No, I don't work at City Hall."
"Ah, then you must work at Matthew's campaign office."
"No." Susannah shook her head. "Actually, they probably wouldn't let me in down there. I'm a registered Democrat," she admitted, smiling. "Although I'm planning to vote for Matt, anyway."
"I'm glad to hear that." Millicent returned her smile and came right back to the subject. "So how did you meet, then?"
"Meet?"
"You and Matthew. I don't mean to pry, my dear," she assured her guest. "It's just that Matthew so rarely brings any of his lady friends to visit and, naturally, I'm curious. I hope you don't mind?"
"No. No, of course not," Susannah lied, her glance darting off toward the arched doorway leading to the foyer, wondering what was taking Matt so long in the kitchen. She hadn't thought to ask him what cover story he'd given his mother. "But there's nothing to tell, really. Matt and I aren't... That is, I'm not his 'lady friend.' We're just—" she lifted one shoulder in an offhand shrug "—friends, that's all."
"I see." Millicent leaned forward over the polished marquetry table between them. "And you met how?" she asked, her bright blue eyes full of a mother's questions.
Susannah was abruptly reminded of the way Matt had questioned her in her office; she felt just as compelled to answer now as she had then. It occurred to her that Millicent Ryan might have made a hell of a lawyer if she'd been given the opportunity. "Well, Matt came to my office a couple of weeks ago to, ah..."
"Susannah runs a private social-services agency, Mom," Matt said, coming back into the room with a round silver tray of hors d'oeuvres in one hand. "We met when I stopped by her office to check up on a parolee she'd found a job for." He presented the tray to Susannah with a flourish. "Hors d'oeuvre?"
"Yes, thank you." Susannah picked one at random and popped it into her mouth with unladylike haste. She couldn't be expected to talk and chew at the same time.
"Mom?" Matt said, offering the tray to her.
Millicent shook her head. "No, thank you, dear."
"Sherry?" he asked, putting the tray down on the marquetry table.
"Yes, please. There's a brand-new bottle of sherry on the sideboard, waiting to be opened. Pour Ms. Bennington a glass, too," she instructed, watching as he turned to do her bidding. "Here," she said quietly, extending a cocktail napkin toward Susannah. "You can dispose of it in this. There's a brass wastebasket next to the sideboard," she said, looking politely away as Susannah discreetly lifted the small monogrammed paper napkin to her mouth. "I can't stand the ones made with anchovy paste, either," she confided as Susannah crumbled the napkin in her hand. "But I haven't got the heart to tell Gertie to stop making them. She thinks because I'm descended from Swedes I'll eat anything made with fish." Her smile was impish, the expression in her eyes just a bit wistful. "Actually, my husband was the only one who ate the vile things. He loved them."
"Your sherry, Mom."
Millicent lifted her hand for the glass. "Thank you, dear."
"And Susannah," he said, handing it to her as he sat down on the brocade settee beside her.
Susannah took the glass with a murmur of thanks and lifted it to her lips. She almost sighed with pleasure as the bone-dry, straw-colored liquid washed the lingering taste of anchovies off her tongue.
"Excellent sherry, isn't it?" said Millicent, with a twinkling smile.
Susannah smiled back. "Excellent," she agreed and took another small sip before setting the small, footed glass down on the marquetry table. It was time to get down to business. "Matt tells me you're a sponsor of the Junior Symphony," she said pleasantly. "Are they performing tonight at Davies Hall?"
Millicent shook her elegantly coiffed head. "Tonight is a performance in the Summer Pops series," she said, referring to the symphony's summer program of lighter, popular music as opposed to the heavier classics offered during the regular symphony season. "The original Temptations are singing with the symphony tonight. I'm quite looking forward to it."
Susannah smiled. "You're a fan of the Temptations?"
"Oh, yes. I like all kinds of music."
Susannah lifted a teasing auburn eyebrow. "Heavy metal? Rap?"
"Some of it," Matt's mother said serenely. "I think that young black woman—Queen Latifah, I believe her name is—is quite good. She sends a very positive message to young women."
Matt's lifted eyebrow was disbelieving rather than teasing, as Susannah's had been. "Where in the world did you hear Queen Latifah?" he asked, surprised by his mother's revelation.
"Right here in this house," Millicent said. "Gertie's granddaughter listens to her music. She listens to someone called Doggy-something-or-other, too." Matt's mother made a small, well-bred moue of distaste. "I don't like him at all."
"You let her listen to that stuff here?" Matt asked, his expression faintly shocked.
Millicent gave him a mild look. "I doubt it's any worse than what you listened to in this house when you were her age." She smiled confidingly at Susannah. "Jimi Hendrix. The Rolling Stones. The Who. Pink something-or-other."
Susannah cut a quick, teasing glance at Matt. "You were a Pink Floyd fan?"
Matt shrugged. "Everybody knows teenagers have no taste," he said in his own defense.
"Well, I quite liked most of it," Millicent said. "Although—" she laughed softly "—his father was always shouting at him to turn his stereo down before someone's eardrums were broken. I'm afraid Francis wasn't a fan of rock music."
"And did he turn it down?" Susannah asked, with another teasing glance at her pretend date.
"Yes, he did. Matthew has always been a good boy and a wonderful son." Millicent smiled across the coffee table at Matt. "I don't know what I would have done without him these last two years."
"It must have been very hard for you," Susannah murmured, delicately probing for insight and information about Millicent Larson Ryan. Since Millicent had already mentioned her husband, Susannah felt it would be okay to continue along that track. "Losing your husband after thirty-seven years."
"Oh, my, yes." Millicent sighed pensively. "I was something of a basket case for a good long while after it happened."
"I'm sorry," Susannah said, instantly regretting having pursued the subject. "I shouldn't have brought it up."
"Oh, no, dear, it's quite all right," Millicent assured her. "It took me some time but I've finally come to terms with my—" she smiled lovingly at her son again "—our loss," she corrected herself. "It was a tragedy and I'll miss Francis until the day I die, but life does go on. I think we owe it to our loved ones
to make the very best of it we can."
* * *
The doorbell rang a few minutes later, announcing the arrival of the rest of Millicent Ryan's guests. Susannah found herself slipping effortlessly back into an old mold, making polite conversation with some of the cream of San Francisco society, while unobtrusively observing Millicent's interaction with her guests in order to learn more about her and trying to be inconspicuous at the same time. But finally, inevitably, one distinguished old dowager recognized her.
"Why, Susannah Bennington, as I live and breathe. Goodness, I haven't seen you since... well, it must be since Meryl's wedding. How have you been?"
"I'm fine, Mrs. Filbert." Susannah smiled graciously and wondered how soon she could escape. "How are you? And how's Meryl doing these days?"
"She had her second baby three months ago. Another boy. I'm sure she must have sent you an announcement."
"Yes, she did." The birth announcement had been beautifully hand-lettered by a professional calligrapher on thick, handmade paper with a matching envelope. Susannah remembered thinking that the birth announcements had probably cost more than the birth itself. Meryl had always been a show-off, even in elementary school.
"Meryl's so good about those things. So conscientious."
So pretentious.
"Oh, I know she'll be just thrilled to see you." Mrs. Filbert gushed on, reaching out to give Susannah's hands a little squeeze. "She couldn't come to Millicent's little cocktail party tonight—she's one of those dedicated modern mothers who likes to put the children to bed herself." She flapped a heavily beringed hand at Susannah. "I tell her it's a wonder that overpriced British nanny she hired doesn't just die of boredom, she has so little to do."
Susannah's smile became less gracious and more fixed as she remembered that pretentiousness was a Filbert family trait. "You'll have to tell her I said hello, then," she murmured.
"Oh, you can tell her yourself. She and her husband are meeting us later at Davies Hall. And I'm sure she'll want to hear all about whatever it is you're doing now. Are you still with those social-services people?"
"No, not for a while now. I run a—"
"Meryl always said it was so noble of you to work with all those criminals and juvenile delinquents, who I'm sure have no idea how fortunate they are to have you working so tirelessly on their behalf. Why," she huffed theatrically, apparently unaware that Susannah's smile had faded completely, "Meryl told me how ungrateful some of them are. She worked herself nearly ragged, arranging a concert at one of those homeless shelters, just to bring a little culture into their lives, you understand, and hardly any of them even bothered to thank her for her efforts. Can you believe that?"
"Excuse me, Barbara," Millicent Ryan cut in smoothly before Susannah could answer, "but I'm going to have to drag Susannah away. You don't mind, do you? She and Matthew have to leave in a few minutes and I need to have a private word with her before they go."
"Oh, you're not coming to the concert with the rest of us? Meryl will be so disappointed."
"Be sure to tell her hello for me," Susannah managed, baring her clenched teeth in a patently false smile. Mrs. Filbert didn't seem to notice the difference. "It was nice seeing you again," she added mendaciously, good manners having been drummed into her at an early age.
"I'm sorry about that," Millicent said as she looped her arm through Susannah's and steered her toward the foyer. "That woman is a hopeless snob and she hasn't got a clue about what goes on in the real world. But she's one of the largest contributors to the symphony fund, not to mention Matthew's political campaign, so..." She shrugged eloquently and let it go at that.
"Thanks for rescuing me," Susannah whispered. "I guess you could tell I was about to blow."
"Oh, my dear." Millicent gave a little trill of laughter. "You're very welcome. But it wasn't I who noticed the steam coming out of your ears. It was Matthew. He sent me to get you. Here she is, dear, temper intact," she said to her son as they entered the foyer, "and none the worse for wear."
Millicent stood back, watching consideringly as Matt solicitously helped Susannah on with her coat. Then she stepped forward and took Susannah's shoulders in her hands. "It was lovely to meet you," she said, surprising Susannah with a light kiss on the cheek. "I hope you'll visit again." She turned to her son, presenting her cheek for his goodbye kiss. "Have a nice dinner, you two," she said cheerily, and went back to her other guests.
Susannah waited to comment on that until they were on the other side of the front door. "Dinner?" she said, giving Matt a slanted, sideways look.
Matt shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I had to give her some reason why we weren't going on to the concert with the rest of them."
"Oh." That made sense. "Right." She tugged the lapels of her camel-hair coat closer against the creeping San Francisco fog and followed him down the wide front steps and through the open wrought-iron gate to the sidewalk.
"I was planning on grabbing a quick bite to eat somewhere after I dropped you off at your place." He glanced at her as they crossed the sloping sidewalk to the American-made luxury car parked at the curb. "But if you haven't eaten yet...?"
"Well, no," she said slowly, knowing she shouldn't even be thinking what she was thinking, "I haven't, but..."
"I know this great little out-of-the-way place in North Beach," Matt said as he opened the car door for her.
"Italian?"
Matt nodded. "Of course."
"Hmm." Susannah hesitated, as if her mind weren't already made up. "Italian is my favorite."
"And you have to eat tonight, anyway."
"True."
"We could discuss what you learned about my mother tonight. What kind of man you think she'd like."
"A business dinner?"
Matt nodded. If she wanted to call it a business dinner, that was fine by him—just as long as they both knew what was really going on. "Sure," he said, "why not?"
"All right," she said, throwing caution and good sense to the wind. She got into the car. "Italian it is, then."
Chapter 4
They had to park around the corner from the North Beach restaurant, in a small lot with one light pole and uneven pavement. A short, poorly lit alley ran between the buildings to the street. Matt used the less-than-perfect conditions as the perfect excuse to touch Susannah, cupping her elbow to guide her around a pothole and then, a moment later, sliding his hand to the small of her back, ostensibly to guide her in the direction of the restaurant.
Smooth move, thought Susannah, making no protest when his hand moved from the small of her back to gently ride the curve of her waist. It wasn't as if he could actually feel anything through the heavy fabric of her coat, anyway. And his hand did feel good there. Warm and, well, just...good. His arm behind her back made her feel oddly sheltered, as if he would protect her from any dangers lurking in the shadows.
Not, she assured herself, that she actually needed any protection. Once they were through the alley and out on the sidewalk, the footing was perfectly even and safe. And there were so many people around that it was hard to avoid being jostled by them. The worst that could happen was that she might get her purse snatched.
But she still didn't move away from his touch.
* * *
"Do you like Chianti?" Matt asked a few minutes later, without even opening the leather-bound wine list the waiter had handed to him.
Susannah barely glanced up from her menu. "Chianti's fine," she said, her mouth already watering at the descriptions of Italian delicacies listed on the menu.
"Two glasses of the house wine," Matt ordered, handing the wine list back to the waiter. "And an order of bruschet—" he broke off and glanced across the table. "Do you object to garlic?"
Susannah raised an eyebrow. "In Italian food?"
Matt smiled, acknowledging her point. "An order of bruschetta to start," he said to the waiter. "Then I'll have the eggplant parmigiana. Susannah?" He waited until she looked up at him again. "Are you r
eady to order?"
Susannah closed her menu, giving in to temptation without a fight. "Three-cheese lasagna with white sauce," she said, promising herself she'd only eat half of it. She handed her menu to the waiter with a smile of thanks.
"Very good," the waiter said approvingly, as if they had ordered exactly what he would have chosen himself. He took the menus and the wine list and disappeared.
It was very quiet at the small cloth-draped table after the waiter left. Too quiet. Unnervingly quiet. A veritable haven of quiet in the busy little restaurant. They smiled at each other across the candlelit table, suddenly uneasy, oddly hesitant.
Susannah moved her spoon a millimeter closer to her knife and tried desperately to think of something to say.
Matt positioned the saltshaker more precisely on the tablecloth and wondered what had happened to his savoir faire.
They both reached for their water glasses at the same time.
Susannah took a sip of water.
Matt took a sip of water.
They put the glasses down at the same instant and chanced another fleeting glance at each other, another nervous smile.
Susannah looked down and adjusted the napkin in her lap.
Matt reached out and plucked a slender bread stick from the container sitting in the middle of the table. He broke it in half between his long fingers. "Bread stick?" he asked, feeling like a fool. He hadn't been this tongue-tied around a woman since junior high school.
"Yes, thank you," Susannah said gratefully, reaching for it as if he'd offered her a lifeline.
They nibbled in silence for another long few seconds.
"Good bread sticks."
"Yes, they are."
More silence.
"How did you—"
"How is—"
They gazed at each other for a full five seconds, and then, mercifully, burst out laughing at their adolescent silliness. It broke the tension, freeing them from the stilted, unnatural silence.
All Night Long Page 5
