Chapter 6: Sunday Dinner

The Sunday dinner came six days after Rupert's offer.

Philippa Harrington lived in a stone house on the Gold Coast with a staircase you could have driven a car up.

She was seventy-eight, with a silver bob, three strands of pearls and a cane she used mostly for pointing.

She met us at the door and looked at Scott first.

"You look tired."

"I flew nine thousand miles for a dinner."

"You flew them for your wife," she said, and turned to me. "You look like you want to hit someone."

"Only a little."

"Good. Come in. She's already here."

Blair stood in the drawing room in a white silk jumpsuit, with a glass of wine she hadn't touched.

She smiled the instant she saw us.

"Siobhan! And Scott. I'm so glad we can finally clear the air."

"The air is clear," Scott said.

He put his hand at the small of my back and kept it there.

The dining table seated twelve and held five.

Philippa sat at the head, Scott on her right, me beside him, and Blair across from me.

Rupert Crane was not there.

Blair had a plan, and I saw it start in the soup.

She leaned toward Scott as she talked, and every time she laughed she touched his sleeve.

"I told Siobhan at the opening, you must be so busy. It's a marvel she runs everything."

"Ran," Scott said.

"Pardon?"

"She ran it. She'll run it again."

Blair laughed.

Under the tablecloth I felt something move.

It was her foot sliding up his calf.

Scott didn't flinch.

He set down his spoon, reached under the table and found her foot.

He lifted it away and put it back on the floor with perfect care.

Then he stood up.

"Excuse me, Philippa."

He walked around the table, took Blair's hand from beside her glass and held it up in the air where everyone could see it.

"You dropped this on my sleeve twice," he said pleasantly. "I thought you'd want it back."

He set her hand on the tablecloth and returned to his chair.

Nobody breathed.

Philippa picked up her wine.

"Well," she said. "That's the first honest thing anyone has done at this table in a year."

Blair's face went a color I had only seen on children caught stealing.

"I was being friendly."

"You were being a cat on a stove," Philippa said. "Eat your fish."

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