“Sabrina Wright is not interested in you. I would swear to that if I were the swearing kind, which I’m not!”
The guy looked like he was going to be sick. “Did Sabrina tell you she is the girl’s natural mother?”
So he knew that, too. “Yes. But she didn’t tell me the name of Gillian’s father. All Sabrina wants to do is pack up the group and herd them all home. She’s not interested in you, Dick, or any of her old flames. Relax, and there’s no charge.”
“Sabrina might not be interested in me but her daughter is.”
“Gillian interested in you? Why?”
“Because I’m the man she’s looking for, Archy. I’m Gillian’s father.”
Numb from the neck up, I listened to a story that was almost verbatim Appleton’s saga of his brief encounter with Sabrina Wright. That was one hell of a spring break, let me tell you. And wouldn’t Gillian be surprised. Her daddies were coming out of the woodwork. There was so much going on in my mind I didn’t even notice when Cranston had finished telling his story. “I can count on your discretion, Archy.
Remember, you are in my employ and if you ever did repeat what I just told you I would deny it, sue, and guess who would win? Or, I would tell the world why you were expelled from Yale.”
That hit me like a knee to the family jewels. “You know?” I foolishly asked.
“I know, Archy. Believe me, I know.”
My head was aching. Were Cranston and Appleton acquainted? Given their backgrounds and social positions, they must be. Did their friendship go back thirty years? Why not? Did they know they had both bedded the then young Sabrina Wright? Doubtful. Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell and these guys were the genuine article. And who paid Sabrina to go away and never return? Both of them, naturally. Only the man who believed he had sired Gillian would pay the piper, and both of these men believed they had.
Last, and foremost, Appleton and Cranston were political animals tuned into the highest of echelons. It was crazy. And scary. I still felt that knowing the name of Gillian’s father could be dangerous and I knew not one, but two candidates for the title. What I wanted to do was crown Sabrina with a hatchet but that could wait. Right now I had to talk my way out of the car while I could still do so of my own volition.
“Your secret is safe with me and with Sabrina.” Here I went into the same spiel I had given Appleton. I would have liked to tell him just why Sabrina was so keen on keeping his, and Appleton’s, secret a secret, but held back. No man likes to be told he’s been duped, especially a man with the pride and brass of Richard Cranston.
“She’s down here to stop her daughter from learning the truth. Sabrina Wright is your ally, Dick, not your enemy. She’s a very clever woman and she will do what she must to keep the bargain she made with you thirty years ago. Put your trust in her. It won’t be misplaced.”
The poor man appeared to be aging before my eyes like a citizen of Shangri-la who had foolishly run down the mountain. His pallor accentuated the dark circles under his eyes, which were now puffed from worry and fatigue. Cranston was a man living with his head on the guillotine’s block since the day he read that item in Lolly’s column.
That insipid blind item had two important men in Palm Beach on the brink of nervous collapse, proving yet again that the pen is more lethal than the sword.
Trust her? You have to be kidding. She told the girl she was her natural mother, which was against our pact. If the girl is here looking for me she must have told her where she was conceived. Trust?
She’s about as reliable as a campaign promise. I said I wanted to hire you, Archy, and I still do.”
“What for?”
“You know Sabrina. Stick with her and her family. Especially the tabloid reporter. Keep me posted on their every move.”
With a gesture at the driver loitering just outside the car, I reminded him that he had people far more capable than myself to keep the group at The Breakers under surveillance. “I work alone,” I told him, ‘and I’m in the habit of breaking for lunch and dinner, not to mention a good night’s sleep. You could furnish a relay team to cover them around the clock.”
He shook his head and ran his hand through his fashionably cut hair. It tousled and then fell back into place, perfectly. I hate men with hair like that. “Don’t you see? That would mean telling people I’m interested in Sabrina Wright. They won’t know why I’m interested and that would be worse than if they did because they would then speculate on everything from bigamy to satanic worship. You already know the truth and you’re one person too many, but I can’t do anything about that except use it to my advantage.”
A very rich man once told me that the wealthy are often accused of milking their employees dry. That is, having them perform chores other than the ones for which they were hired. He claimed that this penurious behavior has less to do with saving a buck than in limiting the number of people surrounding them. The more sparse the court, the less worry about tattling, tell-all books, and the threat of blackmail.
Hence, I could understand Cranston’s fear, but that didn’t mean I had to like his blunt assertion regarding the vulnerability of my insider status.
I didn’t want to refuse him out of hand as my father would never forgive me, so I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse because he had no choice. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground, and I do have my sources. If I run into Sabrina or any of her group, I’ll feel them out and pass on what I learn. That’s the best I can offer you.”
He nodded, reluctantly. “Do you think I should meet with her, Archy?”
Better make an appointment, was what I thought. “That’s up to you, but I would let sleeping dogs lie. Gillian hasn’t got a clue and Sabrina is not cooperating. Get some rest and this, too, shall pass.”
“Thanks, Archy. I’m sorry I tried to pressure you.” He offered me his hand. “Friends?”
I accepted the olive branch. “I’ll keep you posted when and if I can,”
I promised.
Still clutching my hand, he said, “The Court of Saint James. It means everything to me, Archy, and nothing is going to stop me from presenting my credentials to Her Majesty. Nothing.”
Thirteen
The limo made for the disposal area at the end of the block before executing a three-point U-turn and heading out of the Palm Court. As it passed me, Bianca appeared at her door and called, “Who was it, Archy?”
“Only a couple interested in renting number eleven-seventy. They didn’t know it had been taken.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
Not wishing to get into a discussion on the subject I shrugged my regrets and waved a good-bye as I got into the Miata. When I drove out of the Palm Court the limo was nowhere to be seen. Gone, I thought, but not forgotten. I motored aimlessly until I spotted a coffee shop.
I parked and went in. The place was between breakfast and lunch, therefore just about empty. I sat in a booth, ordered a coffee and toasted English, and tried to figure out my next move.
When I had called Sabrina to tell her she was going to hear from Gillian’s father, the woman had no idea who that might be Appleton or Cranston. But, like the pro she is, she had aced my volleys and sent me packing with a sharp “Good day.” When she tried to learn why Gillian’s father had contacted me, was she hoping the lead would tell her which of the men she was likely to hear from?
It was only later that I realized the name Thomas Appleton had never come up in our conversation. But with Silvester present and a switchboard operator with easy access to the line, I had to assume she was loathe to name names and that made sense.
When Sabrina told Gillian she was her natural mother, I had to also assume that she, Sabrina, couldn’t resist bragging about her pedigreed conquest and life, however fleeting, in posh Palm Beach. No doubt she had reminded Gillian that although she may have been born on the wrong side of the blanket, the comforter was spun from threads of pure gold.
And, thanks to mama’s business savvy, Gillian had been given all the advantages due her heritage. Did Sabrina also name all the royal bastards who had risen above the happenstance of their birth? She was, after all, a
