Marcel’s hands came up in a gesture of supplication. “But he told me he had been assigned to help out here today.”
I didn’t have time to quibble. “At least we know he isn’t shirking his duties,” I said in a low voice. “And heaven knows we can use all the help we can get.”
Marcel wiped his hands on his apron, looking thoughtful. “Yi-im has worked very hard today. As a butler, he is perhaps in the wrong department, no?”
I followed his logic. Marcel was always on the lookout for pastry assistants. With the number of dazzling and delicious desserts his department produced, he was usually understaffed. At the moment, however, I didn’t have time to discuss personnel with him. “Let’s talk about this next week,” I said. “Monday morning staff meeting?”
“Excellent plan,” he said. “Now I shall go upstairs to be certain my creations arrive safely.”
Thirty seconds after his departure, Jackson returned, making me think about one of those old movies where people chase one another and keep missing their quarry by moments. “Mr. and Mrs. Volkov have arrived, as has Senator Blanchard with Ms. Gerhardt. She has requested a few moments of your time.”
I was surprised. “Bindy wants to talk to me?”
He nodded.
“Sure,” I said. “You can let her come down after dinner.”
“She would prefer to visit with you now.”
Great. Another interruption. “Go ahead, Ollie,” Bucky said. “We’ve got you covered.”
He was right. One of the things Henry had told me before passing the potholders was that in order to succeed, I needed to be able to rely on the efforts of others. “You can’t do everything yourself anymore,” he’d said, chiding me. He knew how much I liked to feel in control. “You have to be able to let go. Let your staff show you how good they are.” With a wink and a smile, he’d added, “That’s how I recognized talent in you.”
“Thanks, Bucky.” I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said to Jackson. “Send her down.”
Bindy Gerhardt had been a staffer in the West Wing during her tenure at the White House, and I liked her well enough. But she and I weren’t the kind of girlfriends who sought one another out. Although she looked like central casting’s answer to the nerdy girl with the heart of gold, she’d always struck me as a power groupie-doing her best only when people in authority were apt to notice. In fact, immediately after she’d accepted the position on Blanchard’s staff, she’d stopped visiting the White House altogether. Probably to stave off any impression of impropriety. This was the nature of Washington, D.C. -rumor and innuendo ruled. We all knew that perception was often more important than reality. Especially where the news media was concerned.
Cyan sidled next to me. “That’s weird,” she said. “I hope she isn’t looking for a special menu at this late date.”
“I don’t remember her having dietary restrictions.” I was pretty good at remembering unusual requests. Plus, Bindy would have known to send her preferences early. I couldn’t imagine why she’d asked to come down here, so I shrugged. I’d find out soon enough. “Maybe she wants to swap recipes.”
Cyan laughed. I washed and dried my hands, taking a long look around my kitchen. It hummed. Without a doubt, this would be the best Thanksgiving dinner any of our guests had ever experienced. I savored the moment-the instance of absolute certainty that we’d achieved greatness. I couldn’t wait for our guests’ reactions.
Deciding it would be best to keep Bindy out of the kitchen proper-and hence out of the staff’s way-I came into the Center Hall just as she made it to the bottom of the stairs. “Ollie!” she said when she saw me.
I almost didn’t recognize her. Bindy had lost at least twenty pounds, and although I knew it was impossible, it seemed she’d grown taller, too. “Wow!” I couldn’t stop my reaction. “You’re… so…” I almost said, “slick,” but caught myself before the word escaped. “So… chic. I mean… not that you weren’t before, I just…” I’d fallen so far into the open-mouth-insert-foot trap that I couldn’t escape without a massive recovery effort. “What I mean to say is that you look wonderful. The new job must be going great.”
Sunny smile. “It is. And believe me, everyone has the same reaction. Quite the change, isn’t it?”
Understatement, I thought.
She spun on a navy blue heel. Her dress was navy, too, a perfect contrast to her pearly skin. “What do you think?”
“You look fabulous.” She did. Although she hadn’t been exactly overweight before, the new, slimmer look suited her. The last time she’d been here, she preferred easy-comfort clothes and ballet flats. Back then she’d had loose, curly hair that she wore to her shoulders. No makeup. Now her hair was cropped short and slicked back, framing her carefully made-up face and exposing a pair of pert diamond earrings. The nose was still wide, the chin still weak, but she’d evidently been schooled in how to play up her better features because her eyes drew my attention first. Bindy would never be considered beautiful, but the change in her appearance certainly made her more attractive.
She tapped one of the earrings. “Fake,” she said, “but aren’t they great?”
At the moment, I would have much preferred to be discussing turkey dressing with Bucky than fake baubles with Bindy. “So, you’re here in Mrs. Blanchard’s place today?” I asked. I knew my voice held just enough curiosity to prompt her to get to the point.
“Yes, yes,” she said. “There are some personal business items Senator Blanchard needs to discuss with the First Lady.” Bindy wrinkled her nose, giving a little giggle. “Mrs. Blanchard didn’t want to be in the way. I’ve done a lot of research for the senator…” She waved both her hands at me. “That sounds so stilted. I do a lot for Treyton and his wife, and they both thought it would be smarter, strategically, for me to be here today when the partnership is discussed.”
So Sean’s fears had been warranted. Again, I was thankful he was due to arrive soon. “I thought this was supposed to be a Thanksgiving celebration.”
“That, too. There’s never any downtime in D.C., is there?” She licked her lips. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk with you about. I wanted to ask you about the gingerbread men.”
“The ones Marcel is creating?”
“No, the ones being sent in from across the country.” She giggled again. I’d forgotten that she had the tendency to do that when nervous. “Treyton knows that you’re choosing the best ones from the thousands you’ve received to display in the Red Room next to the gingerbread house. Is that right?”
“It’s not just me; Marcel has the final-”
“Yes, but you’re in on it, right?”
“Sure.”
“Treyton’s kids are submitting gingerbread men they’ve been working on. It would mean a lot to them to have their work displayed in the Red Room during the holiday opening ceremonies.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Where all the cameras will be?”
“Well, yes…” She punctuated her words with another little laugh. “You know those pictures will be seen everywhere as soon as the celebration is complete…”
She let the thought hang and I finally understood why she was uncomfortable talking with me. Treyton Blanchard wanted his kids’ handiwork plastered all over every newspaper, White House-related Web site, and on TV. Rumor had it that the man was considering a run for the presidency. Getting his kids’ artwork prominently displayed must feel a little like squatter’s rights. A thought occurred to me. “Aren’t his kids kind of young for this?” Blanchard had three little ones, and the oldest was eight or nine.
With a bouncy little so-so motion of her head, Bindy said, “They’ve had help with the project. The gingerbread men are really beautiful, Ollie. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if they weren’t worthy of presentation.”
Sure, she wouldn’t. Treyton Blanchard probably thought his kids’ scribbles with a blue crayon were genius. And I knew that if the powerful senator asked Bindy to do something, she’d do it.