“Don’t be rude to my duchess, Blondie. Room service might be the answer if you’re in one of your moods again.” He winked at me and pinched my arm as I walked behind him.
I was two-thirds of the way down the table before I saw my name, placed between Lord Windlethorne-that must have been Mike’s doing-and Ambassador Richard Fairbanks, the American delegate to the Pacific Economic Conference. A waiter pulled out the chair to help me into my seat.
Windlethorne joined me almost immediately and I was treated to a lecture on British libel law as interpreted through the most recent court cases, which outlasted the service and consumption of the starter, a Cornish crab with lime pimentos. Midway through the second course of salad smothered in truffles, Windlethorne was diverted by the woman to his left-whom I wanted to kiss in gratitude-and I introduced myself to Fairbanks, whom I had not met earlier.
The Ambassador was charming, attractive, and funny and I managed to stay engaged in conversation with him throughout the next three courses, as I lost count of the varieties of white and red wine that accompanied each dish.
When all of the desserts and champagne had been finished and the ormolu clock had chimed midnight, Bernhard invited the heartier participants to follow him along for cigars and port. The Europeans with the earliest airport departures began to peel off and say goodnight, as did a number of the spouses who complained about the odor of all that smoke.
I would have been happy to call it a night, too, except for my fascination with Jennifer’s interaction with Mike. She was all over him again as they headed out of the dining room, so I reminded myself how much I loved the smell of my father’s cigars and made my way after them into the library with its wood-paneled walls and immense fireplace. I positioned myself next to Ambassador Fairbanks and his wife, Shannon, and eventually Jennifer and Mike worked themselves around the room to us. Chapman was carrying an extra glass of port for me. “This could be the smoothest thing I’ve ever tasted. You gotta try it.”
Graham came over to the sofas where we had seated ourselves near the crisp fire. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, leaning in to speak to Chapman. “Your mother returned your call during dinner, but asked me not to disturb you. She said she was just calling back with the information you wanted and to tell you when I saw you and that you’d understand. Mrs. Chapman said that last night’s category was Geography and that I was to tell you the answer.”
“Hold it, Graham.” With a cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth and half a load on, Mike liked the way Jennifer was playing and flirting with him and delighted in her reaction to Graham’s cryptic message.
He started to explain to her what Jeopardy! is and she squealed back at him, grabbing him by the wrist, “I know exactly what it is. I always watch it when we’re in the States.”
“Ten bucks, duchess. You in it for Geography?”
“Fifty bucks, detective. How about you?” She had turned to me asking if I was still in the party.
Knowing my chances were slightly better than with the Bible or Physics, I told her I was in for fifty with her.
“Carry on, Graham.”
“Madam said to tell you that the question was-” He paused as he looked down at the sentence he had written out on the back of a Cliveden postcard. “ ‘Formerly called Mount McKinley, this highest peak in North America is known now by its Native American name meaning Great One.’ ”
Jennifer pounded the arm of the sofa shouting “Got it!” at the very same moment Graham was asking Mike whether he had understood the message. “D’you know it, too?” she asked me.
I smiled lamely and offered, “What is Mount Rainier?”
Her feet were drawn up under her gown now, and Jennifer shook her head at me to tell me that I was wrong. Then she looked over at Mike on the sofa next to her.
“Clueless, m’lady,” he said, beaming that great white grin back at her.
“What is Denali? That’s the name of it now. Bernie financed an expedition to the peak of it last summer. For an environmental group or something. Isn’t that amazing?”
Truly amazing. Even more astounding was the fact that Mike was digging in his pocket for the payoff, which he’d never done so quickly with me in all the years we’d been playing together. Mostly what I got were IOUs. This dame needed his fifty like I needed another drink.
“Excuse me, Graham. Could I please have another drink-a bit more port?”
He had just returned with my glass when Bernhard made his way across the room to reclaim his gorgeous treasure and take her upstairs to bed. Mike got to his feet to accept kisses on each cheek from his duchess and promises to both of us that she’d see us in New York before very long. We thanked Mr. Karl for his generosity and resumed our places on the sofas in front of the fire as the conferees continued to trickle out of the room.
Someone had turned on the CD player that was sitting on a table in the corner. Bette Midler’s voice came at me asking if I wanted to dance under the moonlight. I walked to the double doors that led onto the terrace. A few people had strolled outside to enjoy the bracing night air, escape the cigar fumes, or distance themselves from the heat of the fire.
I moved to the edge of the balcony and rested my crystal wine glass on the solid stone slab that overlooked the starlit gardens, breathing in to clear my head and my mind.
Mike joined me. “Sleepy?”
“I was an hour ago but I’m really wired now.”
“Anything in particular?”
“The case, I guess. Odd to be in the middle of all this elegance, all this irrelevant excess from another age, while somebody else is working our murder case. I don’t mind that they are, I just wonder what they’re up to. You think it’s DuPre?”
“You know me. I think it’s everybody until we prove it’s somebody.”
Now it was a man’s voice singing to me from inside the great house. In between Mike’s comments I could make out phrases. “When the day-” Then Chapman spoke to me over the sound of the singer. “-and night has come-” And, in fact, the moon was the only thing I could see.
“Dance with me?” I asked. I was gliding to the music by myself across the uneven foundation of the ancient structure, imagining that all sorts of titled men and women had waltzed over the same terrace for centuries.
I was singing along with Ben E. King now, hoping my partner would stand by me. Chapman was staring at me, cigar in hand and unable to repress his grin at the sight of my intoxicated, finger-snapping dance steps.
I said it again, a bit less tentatively this time. “Dance with me, please.” He still seemed to hesitate. “I’m only asking you to dance, I’m not-”
“All right, all right.”
He put down his cigar, placed his glass next to mine, and picked up the beat as we swayed to King’s tender voice.
“So who am I dancing with tonight, a Wili or a duchess?”
I didn’t get it. “What?”
“Are you planning to dance me to death, like the Queen of the Wilis, or does ‘blue collar’ just look more appealing to you this evening because Lady Turnbull got such a kick out of it?”
“That’s not fair. I-”
“Shhhh.” He let go with his left hand and put it up to his lips. “No talking. I’m trying to figure out a way to get one of those tiaras for you. If her boyfriend had left her with me for just another hour, I could have talked that one off her head and given it to you. You know how good you’d look in front of a jury trying a case with a tiara on? You couldn’t lose.”
The disc had switched once more and Smokey had speeded up the pace by telling us that he was going to a go-go. Mike danced himself over to the edge of the balcony and picked up his cigar. I was swaying alone and watching my skirt twirl, backing up the Miracles with some harmony, and trailing after Chapman to find my glass of port and refill it.