“You need to talk to Daddy. I’m sure he knows this George person. Daddy knows anybody who has anything to do with the business. Mummy, too.”
It was a good idea, made even easier by a call a few minutes later from Patsy Avery.
“Do you want to play hooky and go look at a dining room table with me? It’s at an antiques dealer’s out in Concord.”
“That’s funny. There’s one I want to talk to out there—Julian Bullock.”
Patsy laughed. “We are definitely on the same wavelength. The table is at Julian’s. We’ve bought quite a few things from him, and Will wants a really big table for entertaining. Julian says he has just the thing. Could you go tomorrow morning?”
What with the business, keeping things going at home, and the full-time job of tracking down her possessions, Faith had to think a moment before deciding she could go.
“I’d love to—and I have lots to tell you. We’ve found some of our things.”
“Say what!”
Faith gave Patsy a hasty description, aware that a few feet away Stephanie was bruising the avocados as she mindlessly picked them up and put them down, restlessly waiting for Faith to get off the phone.
“You can get all that money back,” Patsy was advising her friend. “A thief can’t transfer title, so the dealer has to give you back what you paid him. All you have to do is prove the goods were stolen.”
This was good news. They had the photographs, so when she was sure they’d retrieved everything they could, they’d send Mr. Stackpole a bill. It gave her a warm, righteous feeling.
“I thought you’d never get off the phone,” Stephanie said petulantly when Faith hung up.
“So, you’re going to Daddy’s tomorrow morning?”
“Yes. Coincidentally, a friend wants to look at a piece of furniture he has for sale.”
“All his furniture is for sale. Forget about getting attached to anything. I came home from boarding school one vacation and had to sleep on a cot because he’d sold my entire bedroom.” For a moment, Faith felt sorry for Stephanie. It couldn’t have been a happy home; furniture moving in and out was the least of the instability.
“Now”—Stephanie held up one of the alligator pears—“you’re sure the soup isn’t going to be too green?”
After Stephanie left, Faith quickly made the soup.
She hadn’t used this recipe in some time and planned to serve it to Bullock mother and daughter, along with some of the other goodies from both the rehearsal dinner and wedding reception menus when they came on Friday afternoon. As she finished combining the ingredients, Faith reflected on her uncharacteristic behavior. It was a great recipe and there was no need to make it now, but she was anxious. Anxiety was seeping into all the corners of her life, yet at the moment there didn’t seem any way to control it.
It was a good idea to give the Bullocks something to eat, though. They’d already sampled most of the food, but as they ate, or picked, in Courtney’s case, Faith firmly intended to keep the conversation on the swatch Mrs. Bullock was bringing and what kind of flowers she wanted—
anything but changes in the menu.
Faith poured the soup into a bowl, covered it, and put it in the refrigerator. The bisque was a lovely shade of green, like the owl and the pussy-cat’s boat. Looking at it made her feel better. She started taking out the fruit and cheese for some of the platters ordered for a function in Weston.
As she lined flat wicker baskets with grape leaves, the door opened and Niki arrived. “I‘m having so much fun, and I brought you a sample.
Really, on days like this, I can almost get myself to believe that food is better than sex.” She was taking a course in desserts at the Cambridge School of Culinary Arts, and Faith had become used to the sugar high Niki regularly reached after class.
She also looked forward to the treats Niki brought. Today, Niki announced they had each made a gateau St.- Honore, and she popped one of the extra cream puffs filled with chocolate pastry cream into Faith’s mouth. It was sinful.
“What are you doing?” Niki asked. “Those are for the Weston job, right? Do you want me to get started on the dessert tray?”
“Great. There really isn’t much to do. They’re taking care of the drinks and heating up the other hors d’oeuvres.”
“So,” Niki began, arranging bite-sized palmiers, lavender shortbread, chocolate mousse cups, and other goodies on a tray decorated with crystallized fruit and flowers, “what’s the latest?
Have you turned up any more valuables?” Niki had been one of the people Faith had called the night before with the news of the recovery of some of their loot.
“I went out to Nan Howell’s this morning and she got me the name of the dealer who rents the booth at the Old Oaken Bucket. She also gave me a list of places to write to with descriptions of what’s been stolen, as well as a list of antiques marts to check out.”
“Pretty full plate,” Niki observed.
Faith was feeling philosophical. “Getting robbed is like the gift that keeps on giving. You get trapped in the whole process, kind of like the twelve days of Christmas. You start out with one pear and a bird; then, before you know it, you’re up to your eyeballs in milkmaids, leaping lords, insurance adjusters—not to mention cowpats and bird droppings. Of course, you would have all those nice gold rings,” she mused.
Niki laughed. “Glad to see you’re not losing your perspective, boss.”
“Stephanie was waiting for me when I got here.
You just missed her.”
Niki snapped her fingers. “Aw, shucks! Don’t you seriously wonder what this girl is going to do with her time once this wedding is over? I mean, doesn’t she have friends, people to go to lunch with, pick up trifles on Newbury Street, and other mindless delights of the leisured class?”
“I think all her friends have jobs or are still in college. Stephanie dropped out to concentrate on being engaged, remember.”
“Yeah, I remember. Mater was complaining that Pater had saved a year’s tuition and shouldn’t be forcing her, of
“Right—but Courtney got them herself, Stephanie told me. ‘Daddy’s so cheap. He told me to get Martha Stewart’s at Kmart!’ ” Faith had Stephanie’s voice down pat.
“I never thought I would live to see the day—
Martha Stewart and Kmart—talk about strange bedfellows.” Niki put the finishing touches on the tray, arranging clusters of tiny champagne grapes in each corner.
“Speaking of which, did you hear about Martha’s own daughter’s wedding? Julian Bullock would have been over the moon if Stephanie had gone the route Alexis Stewart did. Apparently, she’d had enough sugared almonds and tulle to last a lifetime and so got married in a gray flannel suit. There were virtually no guests, although Martha was there. They had lunch afterward at Jean Georges, that incredible restaurant near Columbus Circle in New York. Martha didn’t get to make so much as a petit four. I’d better be careful what I expose Amy to or she might do the same thing, and I’d like her to have as great a wedding as we did—and Tom has already practiced a few teary words to work into the ceremony. Stop it!” Niki was making gagging motions, as she did whenever she felt the subject of matrimony was hitting too close to home.
“Speaking of Amy,” Faith said, “I have to pick the kids up in twenty minutes. Afterward, I want to check out two or three of these antiques co-op places Nan mentioned. Can you manage? The Weston people insisted on picking the platters up themselves to save the delivery charge, and they’ll be here before three o’clock.”
“I’m going to work on perfecting my chocolate ganache, so don’t worry. I had planned to stay anyway. But, Faith, are those antiquey places kid-friendly? I adore Ben and Amy, but do you seriously want to set them free amid all that bric-a-brac?”
“No, but I don’t have any choice. Leaving children home alone only works in the movies. Besides, Amy will fall asleep in the knapsack and Ben can be very good if sufficiently bribed. He wants some kind of Hot Wheels car, and if I keep reminding him about it, he’ll be able to hold it together. I don’t plan to stay long. Two of the places are in Cambridge and one in Boston.” The act, seldom admitted, of a desperate mother worked like a charm. All Faith had to do was make
