sophisticated, just as you deserve. It brings up memories of older times, does it not?”
Rose shifts under the questions, suddenly uncomfortable.
I make a mental note of her reaction.
She clears her throat. “So,” she says. “Who’s the fourth spot for? You didn’t invite Charles as well to surprise me, did you?”
“No, no.” Jeremy almost laughs. “I have a much more refined surprise in mind. Though Charles is free to join us as he wants, as the night progresses.
“Somehow, though,” Jeremy adds after a moment’s reflection. “I think he will prefer to sit this one out.”
I share a look with Rose and see the discomfort on her face.
Does she not know Jeremy invited his father? Why? Should I tell her?
I have a feeling, however, that there are undercurrents to the night to which I am completely blind. Dangerous ones. Ones that scare me.
I decide to take a more subtle approach.
“Jeremy,” I say sweetly. “Would you mind telling me why you invited Rose to join us tonight?” I smile at her, “Not that I mind her company, of course.”
“Now, now,” Jeremy says. “Is it so surprising that I dedicate one night to spending time with the two women who know me best?”
“And Hugh?” I ask.
Rose does not react to the name. And then I realize: if she knows Jeremy’s father at all, she would know him by his real name! I rack my brain, but can’t for the life of me remember what it was.
“Hugh will be…an honored guest,” Jeremy says. He looks at Rose. “But now Lilly has ruined the surprise.”
The doorbell rings. “Ah,” Jeremy says. “The fourth member of our company has arrived.” He gets up and starts for the door. “Excuse me a moment, while I let him in.”
As soon as Jeremy’s out of earshot, I lean toward Rose and hiss, “Hey! Do you know what all this is about?”
She takes a breath, closes her eyes, and lets it out slowly. Her hands have a death grip on the edge of the table. “My dear,” she says finally. “I haven’t the slightest clue.”
“I don’t like it,” I say. “When did Jeremy tell you about dinner?”
“Less than an hour ago,” Rose answers. “He rang me up and told me to put on my most expensive dress. The one he’d picked out for me years ago for the right occasion.”
“This is it?” I wonder abstractly. Another shiver crawls up my spine. I feel like Rose and I are pawns in some invisible chess game that Jeremy is playing tonight. “He sprung it on me at the last moment, too. Rose, you know who Hugh is, don’t you? He’s Jeremy’s fa—“
I cut off. Precisely at that moment, Rose’s jaw falls open. She goes ghostly white as she stares behind me.
I spin around in my chair to see what she’s looking at.
And there, entering the dining room, are Jeremy and his father.
The two men could not look any more dissimilar. In fact, if I didn’t know it as true, I would never have guessed they were related.
Jeremy stands tall and proud. He walks with a confident strut, a cocky, arrogant edge to each step. His head is up, his shoulders back, his impressive body emphasized by the crisp lines of his pale blazer and matching pants.
And then there’s Hugh. He’s wearing an old, brown pea coat. A brimmed hat sits low over his eyes. He almost looks like half-a-man beside Jeremy—not just because of the stark disparity in height. Somehow, standing beside Jeremy, being compared to Jeremy, makes him look shrunken, small. His clothes seem too big. None of that smug self-assurance he’d shown in the airport in Boston, or the few times he’s been one-on-one with me is on display here. In fact, he looks…cowering.
What did Jeremy do to him?
That question is lost in the commotion that ensues.
“Blackthorne,” Rose breathes. It sounds like both a gasp and a prayer.
Hugh looks up, then, and sees Rose. The most splendid expression of shock and disbelief comes over his face.
Jeremy, there beside him, smiles widely.
Hugh breaks out in a run. Rose
Rose shifts under the questions, suddenly uncomfortable.
I make a mental note of her reaction.
She clears her throat. “So,” she says. “Who’s the fourth spot for? You didn’t invite Charles as well to surprise me, did you?”
“No, no.” Jeremy almost laughs. “I have a much more refined surprise in mind. Though Charles is free to join us as he wants, as the night progresses.
“Somehow, though,” Jeremy adds after a moment’s reflection. “I think he will prefer to sit this one out.”
I share a look with Rose and see the discomfort on her face.
Does she not know Jeremy invited his father? Why? Should I tell her?
I have a feeling, however, that there are undercurrents to the night to which I am completely blind. Dangerous ones. Ones that scare me.
I decide to take a more subtle approach.
“Jeremy,” I say sweetly. “Would you mind telling me why you invited Rose to join us tonight?” I smile at her, “Not that I mind her company, of course.”
“Now, now,” Jeremy says. “Is it so surprising that I dedicate one night to spending time with the two women who know me best?”
“And Hugh?” I ask.
Rose does not react to the name. And then I realize: if she knows Jeremy’s father at all, she would know him by his real name! I rack my brain, but can’t for the life of me remember what it was.
“Hugh will be…an honored guest,” Jeremy says. He looks at Rose. “But now Lilly has ruined the surprise.”
The doorbell rings. “Ah,” Jeremy says. “The fourth member of our company has arrived.” He gets up and starts for the door. “Excuse me a moment, while I let him in.”
As soon as Jeremy’s out of earshot, I lean toward Rose and hiss, “Hey! Do you know what all this is about?”
She takes a breath, closes her eyes, and lets it out slowly. Her hands have a death grip on the edge of the table. “My dear,” she says finally. “I haven’t the slightest clue.”
“I don’t like it,” I say. “When did Jeremy tell you about dinner?”
“Less than an hour ago,” Rose answers. “He rang me up and told me to put on my most expensive dress. The one he’d picked out for me years ago for the right occasion.”
“This is it?” I wonder abstractly. Another shiver crawls up my spine. I feel like Rose and I are pawns in some invisible chess game that Jeremy is playing tonight. “He sprung it on me at the last moment, too. Rose, you know who Hugh is, don’t you? He’s Jeremy’s fa—“
I cut off. Precisely at that moment, Rose’s jaw falls open. She goes ghostly white as she stares behind me.
I spin around in my chair to see what she’s looking at.
And there, entering the dining room, are Jeremy and his father.
The two men could not look any more dissimilar. In fact, if I didn’t know it as true, I would never have guessed they were related.
Jeremy stands tall and proud. He walks with a confident strut, a cocky, arrogant edge to each step. His head is up, his shoulders back, his impressive body emphasized by the crisp lines of his pale blazer and matching pants.
And then there’s Hugh. He’s wearing an old, brown pea coat. A brimmed hat sits low over his eyes. He almost looks like half-a-man beside Jeremy—not just because of the stark disparity in height. Somehow, standing beside Jeremy, being compared to Jeremy, makes him look shrunken, small. His clothes seem too big. None of that smug self-assurance he’d shown in the airport in Boston, or the few times he’s been one-on-one with me is on display here. In fact, he looks…cowering.
What did Jeremy do to him?
That question is lost in the commotion that ensues.
“Blackthorne,” Rose breathes. It sounds like both a gasp and a prayer.
Hugh looks up, then, and sees Rose. The most splendid expression of shock and disbelief comes over his face.
Jeremy, there beside him, smiles widely.
Hugh breaks out in a run. Rose
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