He looked different, too. No longer was he Indiana Jones. Nor had he returned to the earlier GQ image she’d once found so amusing. His jaw was set in a way she’d never noticed; at night, while sleeping, he ground his teeth. He was drinking a lot more than ever before and a lot earlier in the day. The anger she saw building in him with the announcement of his father’s recent remarriage was alarming.
She had to admit that Paul was right about one thing, though: Marta was taking over. While she was still in Europe, she ordered her kitchen garden to be transplanted from behind her house to the back of Pride’s Heart. The new garden was three times as large as the old, and it wiped out a part of the side yard where the dogs liked to play. This enraged Paul. His wild speculation about his mother’s death continued.
But Paul wasn’t the only one speculating about Emily’s demise. Towner had told Callie that when the two met for tea. “There are others who think Finn might have given Emily a little push.”
“You and Rafferty don’t believe that, do you?” Callie asked.
“No,” Towner said. “It would have been a pretty stupid thing to do when Emily was already dying.”
It was the first time Callie had heard the words from Towner. With the exception of Emily herself, no one had ever wanted to acknowledge the fact of her impending death.
Finn and the new Mrs. Whiting had returned at the end of June. They arrived at the mansion with huge fanfare. In the days that followed, the packages began to arrive, purchases Marta had made in France and Italy: Florentine gold candlesticks and thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton bed linens from Rome, a Parisian silver tea service that reportedly had belonged to Louis XIV. Marta had spared no expense when it came to spending Emily’s money. Indeed, both Marta and Finn were dressed better than Callie had ever seen them, thanks to a stylist who’d accompanied the couple from Paris to Milan.
Callie had to admit that they seemed happy. Finn looked more relaxed and younger. It took Callie a moment to realize the reason. Happiness certainly played its part. But the greying hair she’d noticed when she first met him had disappeared, replaced by blond highlights. She wondered which one of them had suggested the highlighting, Finn or Marta. Neither would have surprised her.
Marta’s shopping had not been limited to the newlyweds. Presents also began to arrive for both Callie and Paul. Callie received a long black cashmere coat from Milan and a set of golden bangles from Florence. She’d thanked both Marta and Finn. Paul’s gifts sat unopened on the farmer’s table.
Marta scheduled a family dinner a few days before the reception was to occur, and, when the evening arrived, Callie got to Pride’s Heart first. As she was coming in, the electricians were just leaving, carrying the sterling chandelier that had been in the dining room since the house was built, replaced by a much larger and more ornate crystal and gold one the couple had purchased in Spain. It wasn’t ugly by anyone’s standards, but it changed the look of the place in a way you noticed the moment you walked in, which, no doubt, was Marta’s intention.
When Paul came into the house and saw the new lighting fixture for the first time, he made a beeline for the bar and mixed himself a strong drink. His unsteady gait seemed to indicate he’d already had a few.
The dinner was not illuminated by the huge chandelier but by candlelight, and, by then, Paul seemed a bit more relaxed, intentionally not looking up at the offensive fixture, but keeping his eyes low. Once or twice, Callie saw him glance at the empty chair his mother had so recently occupied. Marta sat right next to Finn rather than at the opposite end of the table, as had been Emily’s custom.
Dinner went smoothly, a simple cold avocado and crab soup, followed by a beef tenderloin roast, one of Paul’s favorites, though he barely picked at it, which Marta noticed immediately.
“You don’t like the beef?”
“It’s fine,” he said.
“It’s delicious,” Callie said, trying to make up for Paul’s rudeness.
Conversation was pleasant enough, with Finn doing most of the talking, mostly about their travels.
Callie had to admit that Finn looked good in his new wardrobe. His demeanor was relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen during Emily’s extended illness. Every once in a while he would pause and smile at his new bride. Well, at least no one could claim she wasn’t making him happy.
All went well through dessert until Paul stood and headed for the library.
“Where are you going?” Finn asked.
“I thought I’d go down to the speakeasy and get us some port,” Paul answered.
“Not tonight,” Marta said.
Finn smiled at his son. “Marta holds the key to the speakeasy,” he said. “She’s using it as her office.”
Paul looked surprised. “Since when?”
“Since we got home,” Finn said. “Sit back down. There’s something I want to ask you.”
Paul stumbled slightly as he lowered himself into the chair.
Marta frowned but said nothing. Finn didn’t seem to notice, and he continued, “I wanted to ask you if you’d make the toast at our wedding celebration.” He was beaming at his son, as if proud he’d come up with the idea. Marta was watching both of them carefully.
Paul stared at him for a long time before answering. “I think that would be inappropriate.”
“What do you mean? It is perfectly—”
“It might be best to rethink your choice, Finn,” Marta said. Callie could tell she was seething.
“I don’t want to rethink anything. I want my son to make the toast.” Finn turned to Paul, waiting for an answer. “So will you?”
Callie tried to catch Paul’s eye, but he wouldn’t look at her. Instead he looked from his father to Marta and back to his father. “When Hell freezes over.”
Paul pushed back his chair and left without another word. Incensed, Finn threw his napkin on the table and stormed up the stairs, leaving Callie and Marta alone.
“I’m sorry,” Callie said.
“What do you have to be sorry about?” Marta huffed. “You didn’t do anything.”
Callie flushed. At a loss for words, she simply stood and said good night.
“May I give you a piece of advice?” Marta said, looking at the emerald ring on Callie’s left hand.
“What?”
Marta directed Callie to look out the window at Paul, who was stumbling at the edge of the woods. “He will betray you,” she promised. “The Whitings always betray the people who trust them most.”
Callie stared at her. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, yes, it is.”
“You were betrayed?”
“I was, many times.”
“Well, it looks as if you’ve ended up getting everything you wanted.” Callie came back at her hard.
“That remains to be seen,” Marta said, holding her gaze.
“Really, there’s more?” Callie stared back at her. She was beginning to think Paul had been right about Marta.
Marta shook her head and sighed, as if to say that Callie was very na?ve.