'How? We can't go home, if that's what you want, because we've accepted this project. If Tiffany cancels it, that's fine. But...'
'Oh, no. I don't want you to go home. Far from it. I want you and Meg to stay here and do your best for the Institute.'
'You do?'
'Of course I do. The thought of Tiffany pitching another screaming fit in front of the cameras gives me the cold chills. I think I've brought Dad around to letting her go ahead with the plans this week - not the therapy crap of course - that's too much even for Dad. But the food stuff's no problem. Meg's classes, your lecture. He's even agreed to let the banquet go on as long as Bittern doesn't give a speech. It's good that a Taylor, even an ex-Taylor, is sponsoring something this classy.'
'What about Dr. Bob and his 'woman's reach must exceed her grasp or what's a heaven for' psychology?'
Meg asked. 'What's going to happen to him?'
'We're taking care of that,' Evan said.
There was a brief silence. Quill took another sip of wine and considered the large flower arrangement on the bronze pedestal behind Evan's chair. She liked the trumpet lilies.
Evan, who had regained his sophisticated air, said, 'So don't worry about Dr. Bob. Everything on the food end is going to be fine. As long as you do one little thing for my father and one little thing for me.'
Quill gave an exasperated tcha!
He held his hand up. 'Don't turn me down before I even bring it up. I want you to let my mother join Meg's cooking classes.'
'Your mother?' Quill said.
'Cressy,' said Corrigan, suddenly. 'Cressida Houston. She and my father divorced quite a while ago.'
'I know that. And of course I know who Cressida Houghton is. Everyone in the Western hemisphere knows who Cressida Houghton is.' Quill ate quietly for a moment, then said, 'I don't understand.'
'Mother's a fan of yours, Meg.' Meg's eyebrows rose in rude skepticism but Corrigan persevered, 'Well, not a fan, precisely, but she'd love to take your courses. Tiffany told her that the classes were filled, and that you absolutely refused to have more than six people at a time in your cooking courses...'
'That's true,' Meg said. 'Six is the maximum number of people I can teach in one session.'
'We told her we'd met you,' Evan added. 'Actually, Cory did, and she put it to us like that.' He snapped his fingers. 'Wants to join the class, and can't because it's full.'
'Sorry,' said Meg.
'Meg, for heaven's sake,' Quill said. 'There might not be any classes if you don't let his mother join. I thought you wanted to compete for that rating more than anything.' And besides, although she didn't want to say it aloud, who in the world would turn down the chance to meet Cressida Houghton?
'Look, Meg.' Evan leaned forward, forgetting about his food and his wine in his earnestness. 'Have you ever met Cressy?'
'No.' Meg hesitated. 'I've heard about her, of course. Who hasn't? She's as famous as Mrs. Kennedy was.'
Quill nodded. Cressida Houghton had been the youngest of the Babe Paley crowd, the elegant, distant women that Truman Capote had written about in his ill-fated book, Answered Prayers. She was an intensely private woman, appearing only to promote her charitable interest in the homeless.
'Then you have no idea what calm she can bring, what good she can do. You give her half a chance and she can keep both Tiffany and Dad from embarrassing the family. You don't know her.'
'What she's like?' Quill asked.
Corrigan interrupted his brother. 'She's wonderful. Calm, beautiful - she's just great. She's not like Tiffany at all.'
Evan agreed, although in a more temperate tone. 'Or Mariel, for that matter. Mariel's worse than Tif.'
'Mariel?' Quill asked.
'Dad's new bimbo,' Evan said. 'She's nineteen. An up and coming rock star. Or so she claims. I can understand why you'd turn somebody like that down as a student. She shaves her head and lives on brown rice. But my mother appreciates fine food.'
'Hm' said Meg, who was weakening.
Corrigan pressed forward. 'It's not too much to ask, is it? That she be there to keep the peace? That's all we wanted from you. Really.'
Meg shook her head in a way that meant she was on the fence. She made one last stab at maintaining her class size. 'Guys, I'm sorry, but the rule about six students is fixed. It's sacred. I just can't.' She picked up a lobster claw with one hand, looked at it, and set it down again. 'Quill, what do you think?'
'Why don't we go talk to her?'
'Talk to her?'
'Yes. See if what Evan and Corrigan have said is tr - ' Quill stopped and attempted a retreat. 'Look how late it's getting!'
'You mean see if we're lying?' said Corrigan. 'We don't lie. We don't have to.'
