'I don't need to say anything, do I, Myles?'
'It's awkward,' he said.
'She's really attractive. She has...' Quill paused, searching for the right word. 'Presence. A lot of presence.'
'You're beautiful,' Myles said. His hand tightened on hers. 'But yes, she has presence.'
She was back at the Inn by four. 'There you are,' John said as she walked in the back door. Meg raised her eyebrows. Quill gave her a half-hearted wave. 'Santini wants to push the meeting up. Can you see them now? I've got to check the wine shipment.'
'Sure,' Quill said listlessly.
'Are you all right?'
'Fine. Where are they?'
'Having tea. At the regular table.'
Quill removed the coat, swearing to purchase another as soon as the damned Christmas rush and the stupid wedding and the barbaric rites of Santini's bachelor party were over. She grabbed the planning clipboard from its hook on the wall and pushed through the swinging doors into the dining room. There were six people at the table, Claire and a pretty girl whom Quill hadn't met, and the senator and three of his aides.
The youngest aide got up as she approached and pulled a chair out for her.
'You know Frank, Marlon, and Ed,' Santini said breezily. Quill nodded. 'And the ball and chain, of course.'
'A - al!' Claire protested in her nasal voice. 'This is Merry Phelan. One of my bridesmaids.'
'Meredith,' she said in a self-possessed voice. 'How do you do.'
Quill shook her hand. 'I'm awfully sorry about switching you to the Marriott.'
'Not at all a problem. As a matter of fact, I'm off there now. Elaine and I are planning a little shower for Claire Thursday night, and I want to check over some details.'
Santini saluted as she left the table. She gave Quill a wink, and proceeded demurely out the entranceway. Santini waited until she was out of earshot, then hunched over the table.
'So,' Al said, 'glad you could make it a little early, Quill. I've got a good opportunity in the park around five. A fund-raiser with this men's club. Crazy assholes wanted to meet in the dark, but hey, no problem. I'm adaptable.'
'S. O. A. P.?' asked Quill.
Frank - or maybe it was Marlon - consulted a thick notebook. 'Right. Men's organization. Acronym for the Search for Our Authentic Primitive. Chief is Elmer Henry. Mayor, and a Republican. He's fifty-six. Married, to Adela Henry, aged fifty-eight. One of the Walters family, Senator. Used to be money there but not anymore. First Brave is Harland Peterson, big farmer around these parts, net worth in the (he named a figure which astonished Quill), a Democrat, unfortunately, but maybe he can be persuaded. The sheriff, Dorset, is a member and so is the justice, Bristol.'
'Stop already.' Santini swallowed a scone whole and said through it, 'How much time I got with them?'
'Half an hour. Our data suggests that the hearth and home speech should be appropriate.'
'Got that one socked. Okay. So, Quill, dolly. I got more time for you than I thought. The bachelor party Thursday night's for twelve. You got that?'
'One of these gentlemen...'
'Ed,' said Ed, giving her a toothy smile.
'Yes, Ed, gave us the count several months ago. But no guest list.'
'In the interests of security,' Marlon, or maybe Frank, said smoothly, 'we'd prefer to be circumspect.'
Santini snorted. 'With that Cahill bitch sniffing around, you can bet we have to be careful. The thing is, Quill, dolly, we need to get her out of the way for the evening.'
'Out of the way?' Quill repeated.
'Couple of these guys, they can't make it for the wedding. Christmas Eve and all. But they can make it Thursday. They want maybe to make a little contribution to the cause. You know what I mean?'
Quill, uncertain, nodded in lieu of doing anything else.
'You don't get it, do you?' He leaned forward and mentioned a Supreme Court Justice noted for his aggressive - and mean-spirited - decisions on Affirmative Action, a congressman who'd been indicted - but not convicted - twice for money laundering scams, and two names even Quill recognized as having been involved with illegal gambling activities.
'Senator,' warned Ed.
'Yeah, yeah, yeah. So. We're giving these guys the best, right? Sirloin. Baked potato with all the trimmings, lotta good whisky, the works. But we don't want this Cahill broadie to give them the works, you catch my meaning?'
'Yes,' said Quill. 'But I'm not sure what I can do about it.'
'She wouldn't do a thing about Tutti, either, AI,' Claire complained.
'Your gramma's still coming? Shit!' Santini sat back with a shake of his head. 'That's not till tomorrow, right? So we worry about it tomorrow. Hey!' He snapped his fingers. 'That's from some book, right? Now, Quill. What are you going to do about Cahill? I figure it's your problem, see what I mean? She's a guest here, got that? And you're in charge of the guests.'
