“Thank you, Pat. Show them in. And could you bring our sandwiches?”
Expecting a dragon or worse, I’m pleasantly surprised when I walk into the small room. Mrs. Bradford-Clarke gives me a warm smile, stands gracefully, and holds out a hand which I shake gently.
The two women could be sisters, perhaps ten years apart, but similarities end with their facial features. For one thing, her mother’s pleasant expression disappears as Callie shrugs out of her wool coat, displaying a casual outfit of tight leggings and a pink sweater with shoulder peepholes.
As if judging a beauty pageant, the older woman eyes her daughter up and down. Pursing her lips, she waves us onto the couch while she sits primly on the edge of a spindle back captain’s chair.
“Please be seated. Then, I’m afraid, we’ve a very busy afternoon. Did you have any problem getting the earrings?”
“Not at all.” My palm rests on my left chest below my holster. “Would you like to see them?”
“No, no, not until she’s ready to put them on. Her apartment incident has me totally on edge. We have so many people coming in and out. Caterers, cleaning people, and every lower sort of person you can imagine. Any one of them could be a thief in disguise.”
“Yes m’am, I’ll keep my eyes peeled.” I catch Callie’s eye and one brow lifts almost imperceptibly, the slightest of grins lifted on the right.”
“Of course, you will. That’s why I hired you. Was it not made clear?” The accusatory tone takes me aback and I struggle to respond.
Callie, however, quickly comes to my rescue. She jumps up and stares out the large window facing the back yard. “How much snow did you get?”
With her back to her mother, Callie shoots me a wink. Then, she motions Pat forward who places a plate of sandwiches on the coffee table.
“We got about eight inches, miss.” He seems complicit in the abrupt change of conversation yet keeps his face composed as he pours seltzer into stemmed crystal glasses.
Calliope’s mother reaches for a sandwich, her anger focused back on her daughter. “Do sit, dear. It’s impolite to have your back to us. The governor has assured me all the streets will be plowed and the airports open.”
Callie wanders back to the couch and selects an avocado and sprout sandwich. I find what appears to be roast beef and sit back watching the silent sparring.
The mother nibbles, Callie bites. The older dabs at her lips with a napkin while her daughter blatantly wipes mayonnaise away with the side of her hand and licks.
It’d be amusing in a sitcom. In real life, it’s rather sad.
Finished with the lunch-rebellion, Callie picks up a dill pickle spear, using it to point at her mother. “Is Daddy here?”
Her mother puts a small fork in her daughter’s hand. “Manners, dear. Yourfatherwas expected last night. I have a driver waiting for him at the airport, even as we speak.”
Callie’s face goes wistful.
However, her mother’s brows furrow as she stares coldly over her crystal stemmed glass. “I’ll be sure to let you know when he arrives. I’m sure the two of you would like to catch up.”
The same glare focuses on me. “So, Sir James, youareaware of your role this evening, other than bodyguard?”
“I am to be disguised as her date.”
“Heavens, no. Not date, escort. It’s completely different. Pat is waiting upstairs with your costume. You can go and relax until it’s time to get dressed. Callie and I will meet you in the ballroom at seven PM sharp. At that time, she will put on the earrings and you will not leave her side. Be attentive, but not overtly so. Be sure to make it clear you’re not interested in her. Perhaps I could let it be known you’re gay. I’ll point out several young men to make your acquaintance.”
A righteous military man learns to keep a straight face but it’s pretty bloody hard when Callie snickers into her hands and feigns a coughing fit.
“Are you quite alright, Miss Calliope?” The butler appears with a box of tissues so he can help hide her hysterics.
“Excuse me.” Head down, chest heaving from stifled giggles, she rushes from the room.
The butler, similarly amused, follows.
Eyes watering from holding back a chuckle, I swallow hard, and clear my throat. “That sounds like a eh, most lively evening. I do believe pretending to be homosexual may be a bit of a stretch.”
Mrs. Clarke-Bradford, oblivious she brought down the house, eyes me up and down. “I suppose. You are virile. However, I won’t have potential suitors thinking you two are a... a thing. You’ll ruin the whole point of the evening. Perhaps you can just, I don’t know... not appear to like her?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see what I can do.”It’s actually excellent advice if I could only do it.
