Page 42 of The Lost Heiress
Florence raised her cup to her lips and took a sip. Then she rested it in her lap and looked up at Scarlet with a smile she did not feel.
There was no choice in the matter, really. There was only one answer she could give.
“Yes, ma’am,” Florence said. “Yes, of course.”
Chapter Fourteen
July 1982
Cousin Hugh had come for a visit.
As usual, there was no notice given. Hugh had simply shown up one afternoon in the middle of the day, in a sleek red convertible with the top down, his Chanel luggage piled precariously into the back seat. He might stay a month or be gone the next day; with Hugh, one never did know.
Saoirse was delighted to see him. Hugh was her only cousin, but even if she’d had two dozen, she was sure he’d still be her favorite. They set up court by the pool, basking on lounge chairs, lathered in baby oil, foil reflectors poised delicately below their chins, twin Long Island iced teas sweating on the table between them.
“So why didn’t you tell me your new nanny is a dish?” Hugh asked, taking a sip of his drink.
Saoirse rolled her eyes. “Who, Ana?”
“Uh-oh, I know that tone,” Hugh said. “Is she a total bitch? She looked more Wendy Darling than Cruella de Vil.”
“It’s not that,” Saoirse said. “I just can’t seem to get rid of her.”
“Oh,” Hugh said. “Soyou’rethe bitch.”
Saoirse laughed. She’d been called worse.
Hugh set his drink down and picked up his foil again. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?” he said.
“You mean it’s not to seemoi?”
“Well, there’s always that,” Hugh said, reaching over and giving her an affectionate tap on the tip of her nose. “But this time, the impetus was far less cheerful. Parker and I broke up.”
The smile slipped off Saoirse’s face. “Darling, I’m so sorry,” she said. “What happened?”
Hugh fell in love often and indiscriminately—male or female, young or old, rich or poor. But he rarely stayed in love for long. Saoirse had trouble keeping up with his dalliances.
“I don’t know,” Hugh said. “I’m sure he explained it to me, but the trouble was, I wasn’t really listening, and he always said me not listening was a pet peeve of his, so I didn’t have the heart to ask him to repeat himself. So I came here to mope and drink copious amounts of alcohol.”
“I have something better,” Saoirse said.
“Better than a martini?” Hugh asked doubtfully.
“A distraction,” Saoirse said, a self-satisfied grin on her face.
Hugh sat up. “Go on.”
“I’m throwing a party for my birthday,” Saoirse said. “And not justaparty; I want it to betheparty. Something people remember. Something people talk about. The bigger, the better. And I could use your help. You’re a genius at this sort of thing.”
“Ransom knows about this?” Hugh asked, skeptical.
“Of course he knows,” Saoirse said. “He’s the one footing the bill.”
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Hugh said.
“I know,” Saoirse said. “I think he feels guilty. And he should.”
“There should be burlesque dancers, for starters, and a champagne fountain,” Hugh said, sitting back in his chair. “I know a guy; I can put you in touch. Obviously, a caviar and raw bar is a must, and—oh—synchronized swimmers in the pool. How do we feel about exotic animals?”
