“I hate to admit it,” she confessed, “butI’mthe type of person to quietly bear a grudge for years. Perhaps I get it from him. The irony.”
It was a relief that she didn’t need to explain. Dad wasn’t there for her when Mother died, but Joe was. His shoulder had absorbed her tears, and his chest her fists.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, by the way,” she added.
His dark eyebrows lifted as if in question.
“After Mother died, and after Dad came back so late and left me again. I didn’t hold back when I took my anger out on you.”
Joe’s face relaxed. “Oh, that.” He chuckled. “I could take it.”
“But still, you didn’t deserve that. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess.”
He looked down at her, growing serious again. “I was exactly where I wanted to be. Still am.”
The music slowed to a halt, and so did their feet. When they stepped away from each other, Lauren held on to his hand a few beats longer. She didn’t want to let him go.
Joe gripped the steering wheel tighter, peering through the falling snow. If this kept up, it might obscure the narrow roads on Long Island’s north shore. He needed to focus on driving instead of the dance he’d shared with Lauren andThe Tales of Hoffmannopera it had set off in his head. Yes, he’d gotten over her pummeling when they were teens. But he hadn’t gotten over her.
Focus, he told himself again. Getting into a wreck was not how he wanted to end the evening.
“Whereisthis place we’re going to next?” he muttered. Twelve hundred mansions crowned the Gold Coast, as the north shore of Long Island was called. So far, he hadn’t had occasion to call at many of them. “And why aren’t these streets marked?”
“I know, it’s confusing,” Lauren agreed. “These estates have names,not addresses. Old Westbury, Winfield Hall, Mill Neck Manor, Eagle’s Nest ... the Moretti estate is called Château Marie.”
“As in Marie-Antoinette?” he joked.
“Very likely. Mrs. Moretti is a bit of a Francophile, especially fond of the doomed queen’s style.”
“And Mr. Moretti loves all things Egyptian.”
“Napoleon ties the two together since his invasion of Egypt opened the door to further discoveries. So for the Morettis, a French and Egyptian theme works.”
“And how do the neighbors feel about it?” he asked.
Lauren sighed. “As a rule, they don’t approve of new money at all. Christina seems lonely out here. She prefers to stay in the city most of the time.”
She knew a lot about these people. “How close are you to the Morettis?”
“I only know them professionally. The fact that Christina has confided in me at all shows you how lonely she is. Mr. Moretti doesn’t seem to mind being snubbed, but his wife feels every cut. Slow down, there’s the drive.”
Braking, he turned the car onto a narrow lane. Cobblestones rumbled beneath the tires. The grounds were enshrouded with darkness, but with the headlamps, he could at least see the Lombardy poplars lining the drive.
A quarter of a mile later, they approached the great house, lit up from within and by exterior lamps. The sprawling marble mansion with mansard roof looked exactly like a château. He steered the car into the semicircular drive of the forecourt, and a liveried valet in period dress approached him.
“Is this a costume party?” he asked Lauren.
“They like eighteenth-century uniforms for their staff on formal occasions.” Lauren smiled. “I think it makes them feel more like old money, just like the antiques do. Sometimes families that don’t have the right roots, according to society, try to make up for it by embodying history in their homes and possessions.”
The bewigged valet in pink silk knee breeches rapped on Joe’s window.
“Good evening,” the man said. “I’ll take your car.”
Joe held back a laugh at the uncouth phrasing, which made it feel like a mannerly theft in progress. “I’ll park it myself if you’ll kindly show me where.” There was no way he was going to let anyone else drive the police car.
“I’ll get out here and wait for you.” Lauren slipped from the vehicle while the valet gave directions to the carriage house.
Ten minutes later, Joe had parked in an old building, along with several other vehicles worth more than his annual salary, and walked back to the front entrance. A butler in a powdered wig and ruffled shirt bowed to him and opened the door, where yet another staff member took his coat from him, buckled shoes clicking across the tiled floor.
