As luck would have it, Michael was the first person they met after they'd shown their tickets to the uniformed attendant guarding the door and passed into the drawing room. Michael nodded to his brother, about to move on without speaking, then did a visible double take when he saw Emily.
"My God, Emily! What have you done to yourself?" Michael demanded, his voice hovering between appalled and lascivious.
"I married your brother," Emily said, and swept past, leaving Michael to stare after her with an expression remarkably similar to the one displayed earlier by the parking valet.
Jordan followed his wife. He rather liked the way she'd said, I married your brother. He was still mulling over the possible implications of that remark when they were stopped once more.
"Emily, how nice to see you again." Jordan didn't recognize the ruggedly good-looking man who was shaking his wife's hand.
The man spoke again. "I heard from Dylan that you got married a couple of weeks ago. Congratulations."
"Thank you, Cole." Emily turned. "Jordan, I'd like you to meet Cole Bishop, the grandson of Eve Bishop, who's virtually the founding mother of the Texas Fund for Children. Cole has recently taken over as executive director of the fund. Cole, this is my husband."
"Good to meet you, Jordan." Cole Bishop held out his hand.
Jordan shook the man's hand, which was strong and callused. This was a guy who'd obviously worked hard with his hands in the not too distant past.
"Emily told me you have some interesting new ideas for improving the efficiency of the fund's operations," Jordan said, dragging his gaze from his wife's altogether delectable fanny so that he could do his part to keep the conversational ball rolling.
"I have a couple of ideas I'm anxious to work on," Cole agreed. "We may be a charitable organization, heavily dependent on volunteers, but that doesn't mean we have to be inefficient. On the contrary—"
He broke off, and his sunburned features softened briefly into tenderness as a tall, slender woman slipped her hand into his.
"Sorry to interrupt," the woman said, her gaze bright as she looked up at Cole. "Carolyn St. Clair pointed out that you were talking to Emily, and she suggested I should come over to meet her." She smiled, her green eyes sparkling. "Hi, Emily. I'm Lily Garrett, Dylan's twin sister. The other founding partner of Finders Keepers."
"And my fiancée," Cole said.
Lily smiled up at him. "That, too, I guess."
Cole's gaze rested for a moment on his fiancée, the love between them almost palpable. Then he inclined his head toward Jordan. "This is Emily's husband, Jordan Chambers."
"I'm so pleased to meet you," Lily said. "I've been hoping we'd be introduced ever since I heard a rumor that you were J. C. Hunter, the famous cabinetmaker. Is the rumor true, by any chance?"
"Yes, it is," Emily said, before Jordan could decide how to reply. "And I know wives aren't supposed to brag about their husband's achievements, but I think the furniture he makes is magnificent."
"You won't get any argument from me," Lily said. "I'm a great fan of yours, Jordan."
"Thank you," he said stiffly, thinking this was exactly why he'd always kept his work as J. C. Hunter secret. He hated the idea of having to answer endless questions about his craft, trying to explain the inexplicable, where he got his inspiration, when he'd first known that he wanted to be a wood-carver, how many hours it took him to complete each design. And yet there was something undeniably appealing in having an attractive woman like Lily looking at him as if he were some sort of creative genius. Not to mention the pleasant shock of hearing Emily publicly state that his furniture was magnificent.
"Cole's grandmother has promised to buy me one of your signature chests as a wedding gift," Lily said. "She'll be really impressed when she hears that I've met you in person. Although I'm not going to let her near you when we select the design for the wood carving. Knowing Eve, she'd want a picture of the Alamo on the side, and the Texas state flag on the lid."
Jordan laughed and made a suitable reply. The room was becoming more crowded by the minute. Cole was called away to talk to a prospective donor, and Lily accompanied him, leaving Jordan and Emily unexpectedly face-to-face with his mother.
"Hello, Jordan." Amelia Chambers didn't smile or hold out her hand. "I'm surprised to see you here."
"Emily persuaded me to attend." Jordan shoved his hands in his pockets, not knowing what else to do with them. If he hugged his mother, she would only squirm.
Amelia Chambers gave the barest nod of acknowledgment to her daughter-in-law. "Hello, Emily. My goodness, you look as if you caught too much sun on your honeymoon. It's not fashionable to be tanned anymore, you know. And what an unsuitable frock you're wearing!"
Emily's chin tilted. "And why, exactly, is it so unsuitable?"
"Well, my dear, I should have thought that would be obvious, even to you. I'm sorry to say it makes you look as if you earn your living in the world's oldest profession."
Emily looked absolutely stricken and Jordan was washed by a wave of fury so explosive he was surprised that the top of his head didn't blow off. He looked at his mother with biting contempt. "Tell me, Mother, I've often wondered. Are you rude intentionally, or is it just that you were never taught basic good manners and don't know any better?"
Amelia's eyes narrowed in shock, and the base of her throat flushed a mottled red. "I suppose I should expect that sort of crude insult from you, Jordan. As you very well know, the Beaumont family has a pedigree that stretches back to a daughter of Louis XV of France—"
"A bastard daughter," Jordan couldn't resist pointing out.
His mother ignored him. "My father made sure that I received extensive training in the duties of a woman in my social position, and I can assure you that I have a flawless understanding of the rules of etiquette."
"Knowing which fork to use when you eat asparagus and how to address a visiting archbishop isn't the same thing as having a grasp of basic good manners," Jordan said.
"I'm not surprised you would feel that way, Jordan. You've always been a most unsatisfactory representative of the Chambers family."
"Jordan isn't a 'representative of the Chambers family'," Emily said. "He's your son."
"I am aware of that fact." Amelia's gaze flicked over Emily. "You two undoubtedly deserve each other," she said coldly. "All I can say is thank heavens Michael didn't marry you."
"Amen to that," Emily said. "What do you know, Mrs. Chambers? We've finally found a subject on which we're in total agreement. Thank heavens Michael didn't marry me."
Emily walked away, afraid of what she might say or do next. Jordan quickly caught up with her and put his arm around her waist, leading her to the relative peace and quiet of the library. How had Jordan survived growing up in a house where he had to face his mother's hostility every day, she wondered. Right at this moment, having a birth mother who had earned her living as a prostitute seemed like a very much better bargain from fate.
She crossed to the window, breathing hard, and Jordan followed her. "It helps if you just keep telling yourself that my mother is a very unhappy woman," he said quietly. "She was supposed to marry a French count and live in a chateau, but he ran off with his hairdresser instead. His male hairdresser. She's never been the same since."
Emily laughed, the cloud of anger lifting. "You're making that up."
"No, I swear it's true. My grandmother told me the story."
"Your grandmother Hunter?"
"Yes. My mother's mother."
"Why is her name Hunter?" Emily asked. "Your mother's maiden name was Beaumont, wasn't it?"
"Yes, but Grandma Hunter married three times. Her marriage to Grandpa Beaumont lasted just long enough for her to give birth to my mother. Then she asked Grandpa Beaumont for a divorce on the grounds of terminal boredom. When he wouldn't agree, she had an affair that was so blatant he felt compelled to divorce her for adultery. Which, as you can imagine, created a huge scandal back in the forties. Then she married t
wice more in rapid succession. The third time, in the early sixties, she married Ben Hunter and finally got it right. Still, it can't have been easy for my mother growing up, even before the count ditched her for his hairdresser."
"You're going to have a hard time persuading me to feel sympathy for Amelia," Emily said.
"Then let's forget her and go drown our sorrows in dessert. Whatever else you can say about my mother, you have to admit she knows how to throw a party. She always uses Le Grand Gourmet to cater this sort of an event, and they bake a chocolate torte that's almost as good as the one they make at The Brasserie in Elk Run."
Emily touched her hand to his. "You go and test-drive the chocolate cake. I need to talk with a few board members, try to win them over to supporting Cole Bishop's administrative changes. You know what it's like with these volunteer boards. Sometimes persuading them to innovate is about as easy as persuading a chicken to lay a goose egg."
"I'll give you an hour," he said softly. "By then, I'm pretty sure my patience will have run out."
She pulled an apologetic face. "I know this must be really boring for you—"
"Not especially." He lowered his voice. "I'm just tired of waiting to discover what you have on under that dress."
"Nothing much." She blushed and looked away. "I can't believe I said that."
"You're not exactly revealing state secrets," Jordan said dryly. "My best guess is that you're wearing the dress, your panty hose and a splash of perfume. There isn't room for anything else."
She smoothed the fabric over her hips, the gesture betrayingly anxious. "I've had this in my closet for two years, and tonight is the first time I've ever had the courage to wear it." She looked at him, full of doubt. "Was your mother right, Jordan? Do I look like…does this dress make me look like a…prostitute?"
"Not even a very high-class one." He took her hands, pulling her close. "It makes you look exactly what you are, Em. A very beautiful and desirable woman."
She swallowed over the sudden lump in her throat. "Thank you, Jordan."
"Make love to me like you did last night and you're more than welcome."
Carolyn St. Clair chose that precise moment to put in an appearance. She pretended to be blithely unaware of Jordan's final remark, although the grin she couldn't quite smother suggested that she'd heard every word.
"Dylan has been trying to find you for the last half hour, Emily. He has some information that he's anxious to pass on to you. He's in the big room on the right as you come in…"
"The drawing room," Emily suggested.
"Yes, that must be the one."
"I was just about to leave in search of chocolate torte that's rumored to be of world-class quality," Jordan said. "Come and taste some with me, Carolyn." He kissed Emily swiftly on the cheek. "Go talk to Dylan. I'll catch up with you in a few minutes."
Dylan was standing by the doors that led out onto the drawing room terrace, speaking to a man Emily had never seen before. She hesitated to interrupt, but as soon as Dylan saw her, he waved and beckoned for her to come and join them.
"This is Sebastian Cooper," he said. "We're old friends from way back. Sebastian, this is Emily Chambers. Her husband is Jordan Chambers."
"Hi, Emily." Sebastian shook her hand, his ebony eyes charismatic in their intensity. "It's good to meet you. I know Michael, of course, and I'm enthusiastic about his campaign for governor, but I've never had the pleasure of meeting your husband."
Emily smiled, responding instinctively to Sebastian's charisma. "He's in the dining room, tempting Carolyn St. Clair to eat too much chocolate torte."
"Maybe you'd like to join them?" Dylan suggested.
"Is that a hint?" Sebastian asked laughingly.
"Emily and I do have something to discuss," Dylan agreed.
Sebastian gave a mock bow. "I'm devastated to be banished from your dazzling presence, Emily. If your conversation with Dylan gets too boring, send a message and I'll rush to the rescue."
She laughed. "I'll certainly do that." Her smile faded as soon as Sebastian turned his back. She'd forgotten him by the time he left the room. She looked up at Dylan. "Carolyn said you had some information for me. Is it—is it about Maria Vasquez?"
"Yes, it is." Dylan's gaze was compassionate. "Look, why don't we step outside onto the terrace? It's so hot tonight, I figure we have a chance that we might actually be able to talk out there for a couple of minutes without being interrupted."
"Fine, yes, of course." Emily followed him out onto the terrace, her thoughts already in such turmoil that she barely noticed the oppressive humidity of the summer night.
"I went to work on tracking down the burial place for Maria Vasquez as soon as I got your phone call this morning," Dylan said. "You'd given me permission to get in touch with Michael, so he was the first person I called. He was reluctant to cooperate at first, but I eventually persuaded him that it was in his best interests to share with me all the information he had in regard to your mother."
"I'm surprised that you managed to persuade him."
Dylan's smile was cynical. "I suggested he wouldn't want my search for Maria Vasquez's grave to find its way into the newspapers, and he agreed that he most certainly wouldn't. After that, it was fairly easy to persuade him to part with all the information he had. He told me that Maria died of lung cancer while in St. Anthony's Hospital. His investigative team gave June 1, 2001 as the date of death."
"June 1?" The color leeched from Emily's face. "That had to be just when I started dreaming about her," she said. She gazed across the street, looking at the house opposite without seeing a single feature of its elegant facade. It was a moment before she could continue speaking. "Did you manage to find out where she's buried?"
"No. In fact, the situation isn't exactly what we thought it was." Dylan drew in a deep breath. "Emily, a fund-raising party isn't the very best place for us to be having this particular conversation, but there's a real urgency to the situation and I thought, on the whole—"
He broke off. "I'm sorry. I'm not being very professional or coherent about this. Let me try again. Once I had the basic information from Michael, it was routine to check with the hospital on what had happened to the body of Maria Vasquez after she died. It soon became apparent that the hospital had a problem with its paperwork, because nobody seemed able to answer that simple question. I was transferred from one clerk to another, until finally I got transferred to a nurse, Judy Simmons."
He paused for a moment, but Emily didn't ask any questions. She couldn't. Her tongue felt as if it had swollen to fill her entire mouth. "Judy Simmons doesn't work in records," Dylan said. "She works in oncology. With patients who have cancer. In the end, it turned out I'd been put through to her because there's a patient in the terminal stages of lung cancer on her floor. The patient's name is Maria Vasquez."
Emily tried to speak and failed. She cleared her throat and tried again, her tongue still clumsy when she attempted to make it shape words. "It's a common name, Maria. Even Vasquez isn't that unusual."
"True. It wasn't beyond the bounds of possibility that one Maria Vasquez died of lung cancer on June 1, and another Maria Vasquez was in the hospital suffering from the same disease today. But I decided I wasn't getting anywhere trying to straighten out the confusion by phone. I was also frustrated by the fact that I didn't seem to have made any real contribution to this case so far, and although I like to charge high fees, I like to produce some service that's worth the high prices. So I canceled my appointments for the rest of the afternoon, got into the car and drove to St. Anthony's before Judy Simmons reached the end of her shift. I explained to her that Maria Vasquez had been identified as the mother of one of my clients, and that we'd been informed that she died of lung cancer on June 1." Dylan shrugged. "We're fortunate that medical records are strictly confidential while people are alive, but death certificates are a matter of public record, so Judy was willing to cooperate in finding where Maria's body had been taken."
Emily
realized she was holding her breath, and hastily let it out. Dylan took a sip from the glass he'd carried out onto the terrace before continuing with his story. "When Judy Simmons checked the records that are supposed to show which funeral parlor had been given custody of the body, she discovered that an error had been made in entering Maria's case file into the hospital's computer system. The actual hard copy of Maria's records was accurate and showed that the hospital had halted the lung infection that brought her into the hospital. They also showed that Maria had been discharged to the care of her regular doctor on the first of June. Unfortunately, a temporary data entry clerk had transcribed the incorrect number code into the computer, so that anyone referring only to the computer to find out the fate of Maria Vasquez would be told that she was dead."
The streetlights edging the sidewalk blurred and danced in front of Emily's eyes. She gripped the decorative wrought-iron balustrade and clung to it with grim determination, anchoring her hold on reality. She finally managed to make her voice work one more time.
"This is more than a little overwhelming, Dylan. Are you telling me that my birth mother is alive and in St. Anthony's hospital right now?"
"Yes," he said. "But it's not entirely good news. Your mother's dying, Emily. She has another lung infection, and the cancer has spread. Her body's major systems are starting to fail."
"How long does she have left?" Emily asked.
"We're not even talking weeks here, we're talking days. I've visited with Maria and she's asking to see you. By the time I got back from the hospital, you and Jordan had already left to come here, so I followed you. The truth is that Maria is currently conscious and lucid, but nobody's sure how long that will last. It's way past visiting hours, of course, but under the circumstances, the hospital is willing to bend the rules. If you'd like to meet your mother tonight, Emily, she's waiting to see you."
"I'll get Jordan," she said. "We can be out of here in two minutes."
His Brother's Fiancée Page 20
