As beautiful a sight as it was, Nell couldn’t appreciate the mountain. Not when it reminded her of how easily she’d let Martin manipulate her. And now, after Archer’s revelations, how he’d manipulated Meredith and Ros, too.
She turned away and grabbed a bottle of wine, working her way around the guests, topping off glasses as she went. Vivian, looking elegant in a gold tunic and black palazzo pants, was capably holding court.
It was still hard to believe she had any health problems at all.
Wine bottle emptied, Nell returned to the linen-draped table for another, then smiled when she saw Nick Ventura stepping through the opened glass doors between the solarium and the patio.
The sight of the tall, iron-haired man following on his heels made her eyes widen, though.
Everyone else seemed to have the same reaction at the sight of Squire Clay walking onto Vivian’s patio, because all the easy chatter suddenly died, leaving only the strains of Vivaldi from the speakers and the chirp of crickets from the grounds around them.
The elderly man pulled off his dark gray cowboy hat and gave them all an irksome look. “Put your jaws back on their hinges.” His gaze seemed to land on Vivian, who looked genuinely shaken.
So shaken that Nell quickly went to her. “Why don’t you have a seat, Vivian.” There were dozens of them—fancy ironwork things with deep custom-made cushions. And only some were actually being occupied. “I’ll bring you a small plate and Nick can get started on his presentation.” It was earlier than they’d planned in their timeline for the evening, but it would be a good way to distract attention away from Squire’s arrival. She pulled out the nearest chair. “Right here.”
“I’m not an invalid,” Vivian said with enough spirit that Nell’s concern dialed down a few notches. But her boss did sink onto the edge of the seat cushion a little less regally than usual. “Tell Montrose to bring me a Tom Collins.”
Then she looked at Squire and waved her hand imperiously toward the vacant chair across from her. “Do you have a cocktail preference, Mr. Clay?”
“Cut the bull, Vivian,” Squire said tersely. He yanked out the chair and folded his length into it. “You don’t want to drink cocktails with me any more ’n I want to drink ’em with you.”
Vivian gave Nell a pointed look and she quickly went in search of Montrose to prepare Vivian’s drink. They hadn’t planned on a full bar. Just wine and beer.
The chef was in the kitchen scooping tiny helpings of caviar onto equally tiny but elaborate edible structures. He gave her a heavy-lidded glare when she entered his domain.
“Vivian would like a Tom Collins.”
He sniffed. “I’ll get to it.”
“Now,” Nell said firmly. “Squire Clay just arrived and—”
Montrose lifted his bald head and something that might have been surprise entered his supercilious eyes. He set down the minute spoon and the tin of caviar and opened a glass-fronted cabinet filled with bottles.
A few moments later, he handed Nell a tall, slender ice-filled glass topped with a lemon twist and a cherry, and returned to his caviar task. “Now please leave,” he said haughtily.
With pleasure. “Thank you for the drink,” she said and left.
When she reached the patio once more, at least the two individuals seated alone together at the table no longer seemed to be quite the focus of everyone else’s attention. Particularly since Nick had his presentation projecting onto the white screen Nell had arranged for that purpose.
She set the cocktail at Vivian’s elbow, then moved quietly around to the buffet table.
“So.” Delia appeared seemingly out of nowhere and Nell nearly dropped the two plates she’d just picked up. “Archer.”
Nell flushed. She jabbed several pieces of cheese onto both plates. She kept her voice as low as Delia’s. “What about him?”
“You’re not his usual type.”
How well Nell already knew that. “I’m not interested in being anyone’s type.” She quickly added meats and two small arrays of crackers. Ignoring Delia, she returned to Vivian, placing one plate near the cocktail and the other near Squire. The two didn’t seem to be doing much besides glaring at each other, and Nell couldn’t help wondering what had made the water under their bridge so murky.
An old romance?
That particular pairing hardly seemed likely, but what did Nell know?
She’d at least stopped wondering about it by the time Vivian’s soirée finally broke up several hours later. Delia had disappeared shortly after Squire’s arrival and never returned. Vivian and Squire spent the whole time locking nonverbal horns, which had left Nell and Nick to keep the others’ interest on the intended topic of the evening.
She was back in her office trying and failing not to recall what had happened there as she jotted her notes from the discussions she’d had with the guests, when Vivian found her.
Not a hair was out of place on Vivian’s head, but her face looked tired and wan. “I don’t know how you succeeded in getting that man here.”
Nell popped out of her chair like she’d grown springs. Even though she’d exchanged the tall heels from Delia with her own dull pumps, she still stood head and shoulders above her diminutive employer. “He’s a council member. You wanted the council here.”
“Yes, but I still didn’t expect him.”
“I’m sorry.”
Vivian waved her hand impatiently even though she seemed to sway a little as a result. “You did your job. Don’t apologize.”
Nell pushed her chair around for Vivian. “Please.”
Vivian’s lips thinned, but she sat. She crossed her ankles and pinned Nell with a baleful look. “Who told you? Delia? Archer? They told you about this thing squatting in my head.”
Nell leaned back against the table, straightened, then realizing Vivian was watching her closely, made herself lean back again. “Archer,” she admitted.
“It’s not the tumor that is making me
