Moonlight Masquerade Read online

  “He thinks because his family’s rich and mine isn’t that we’re different classes. He thinks that I wouldn’t know how to act in the Treeborne mansion. I guess I’d hang the laundry in the front hallway.”

  “Like Mrs. Adams,” Henry said, and Carter and Sophie looked at him. “When she moved into the White House it kept raining so she hung the laundry in the East Room.”

  Sophie didn’t know what that had to do with anything. She took a plastic tool out of the roll and began carving away at the upper body of the clay soldier.

  “Why’d you say such a stupid thing?” Henry asked Carter.

  His face turned red. “My father . . . ” Carter glanced at Sophie.

  “The Palmer deal,” Henry said.

  Carter nodded.

  Sophie looked from one man to the other. “Oh great. I have two of you from the same world. This is my lucky day.”

  “I used to be in that world,” Henry said. “But now I’m in yours.” He watched as Sophie began to work on the soldier’s face. “Is that ring from you?” He nodded at the box on the table as he looked at Carter.

  Carter grimaced. “I asked—”

  “I saw you on your knee,” Henry said, “but I was hoping that you’d dropped something. A proposal is a serious matter and needs some planning. It shouldn’t be done in front of a window where everyone can see. And not wearing everyday clothes.” Henry smiled at Sophie.

  “Let me guess. You’ve been married to the same woman for thirty-two years.”

  “Thirty-four,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

  She looked back at Carter. “I think you could learn a lot from this man. Now, if the two of you will excuse me—” She turned to leave the room but Henry caught her arm.

  “I haven’t stayed married all these years by leaving a lady to stew in her own anger. Let’s take a walk.”

  Sophie gave him a look of I-don’t-know-you.

  “We can walk to the church, in plain view of everyone, but I do think you need to get out of here. And besides, young Treeborne here can vouch for me.”

  “He is—”

  Sophie didn’t so much as look at Carter. All she knew is that she very much wanted to get out of the restaurant. “I’ll get my coat,” she said and hurried up the stairs.

  Minutes later, Henry was holding a door open for her. As they went out into the fresh air her mind began to clear. “I’m sorry about that in there. Especially about your sculpture. It does show talent. It’s just that your armature was out of proportion and that made everything off. Your teacher should have caught it.”

  “Don’t have one,” he said.

  “I’m sure the local colleges have art courses and you could take one.”

  “I’ve had too many years of being the boss to be able to stand there and listen to some kid talk to me about form versus line versus perception.” He waved his hand. “Besides, in a college classroom I’d be called ‘the old man’ and my ego couldn’t stand that.”

  “Better than being too low class to marry,” she said before she thought. “Sorry. Carter showing up today threw me. Usually, I have rather nice manners.”

  “That makes one of us. I have three daughters, all of them about your age, more or less, and you should have heard what I said to the last boy who played with my third daughter’s heart. His ears will be stinging when he’s ninety.”

  Sophie couldn’t help smiling. “You sound like a good father.”

  “If I was, it was because my wife made it clear that no matter how successful I was in the business world, at home I was to help with the dishes and the diapers.” He chuckled. “I used to spend the day making multi-million-dollar deals with Tokyo, then on the way home I’d have to stop and pick up half a gallon of milk.”

  “And was it all worth it?”

  “My daughters are sane and sensible, and my wife still loves me. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re a very lucky man.”

  They’d come to one of the town squares and there was a bench under a huge oak tree. “Want to sit for a while?” he asked.

  She hesitated. There was a lot of work to do before tomorrow and she needed to get busy on it.

  Henry reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two fat little red-and-white-striped bags. “I have peanuts.”

  She smiled. “In that case, how can I refuse?”

  They sat next to each other on the bench and for a few minutes they shelled peanuts and ate them in silence.

  “So, Sophie, what’s really wrong in your life? You seem to be more agitated than young Treeborne could have caused. Is there someone else?”

  “Maybe,” Sophie said hesitantly. She didn’t know this man, but at the same time there was something about him that inspired confidence. From the way Carter had been in awe of him she was sure that Henry had been some very high powered man in the business world.

  She wanted to pour her heart out to him, but since she’d graduated from college her life had been one long series of people wanting things from her. “What do you want from me?” she asked and couldn’t help narrowing her eyes at him. “You showed up complete with a sculpture and two bags of peanuts. This isn’t a coincidence.”

  Henry smiled. “If you’re an example of this generation, it’s good I got out. You’re too clever for me.”

  “I doubt that. So what is it?”

  He took a moment before answering. “My wife’s sister lives in Williamsburg. I wanted to retire to a place of endless sun, but it was either come here or lose her.”

  “She’s a good bargainer.”

  “Tyrant, is more likely,” he said. “So anyway, I hate golf, can’t stand country clubs, and I don’t know what to do with myself.”

  “You’re the man Russell mentioned.”

  “That’s me. When I was a kid I used to make figures out of mud. I wanted to go to art school, but my father sent me to study business. Back then I was as bullied by him as young Carter is by his father.”

  “But you seem to have survived.”

  “I guess business was in my blood,” he said. “But then I early on learned how to look at a deal as though it were an art form. Was my opponent a Gainsborough or a Pollock?”

  “Or a Mondrian?” she said, amused.

  “If I figured out his style I knew how to deal with him.”

  “So what was on the walls of your office?”

  Henry laughed. “I had my daughters’ drawings framed.”

  “Ah yes. Family. Everything for them. Did anyone ever figure you out?”

  “Not until this moment,” he said.

  “Which brings us back to my original question. What do you want from me?”

  “A teacher. No, actually, I want an art buddy. As much as I love my family, I miss the office—and my wife dearly wants me to get out of the house.”

  “An art buddy? And you’re thinking about me for this?”

  “Russell Pendergast gave me the idea. You know who his father is, don’t you?”

  “Randall Maxwell, isn’t it? Colleague of yours?”

  “Off and on. I can’t say we’re friends. When it comes to business he’s a Robert Motherwell.”

  Sophie had to laugh. Motherwell’s paintings were a white canvas with huge, rough-edged black slashes and ovals, sometimes with a vivid splash of red. Very dramatic. Unforgiving. “Did you beat him?”

  “Only once.”

  “Is this Edilean preacher like him?” she asked.

  “More than he knows. After all, he’s trying for a merger between you and me. He said you want to be an artist and that you’ve done a lot of bronzes. He also told me what you did for your sister.”

  “I guess he learned all this from my friend Kim?”

  “I think so.”

  While the idea was appealing, Sophie didn’t think it would work. “The problem is that I’ve never been good at teaching. You saw that in there. A teacher needs to have patience and to . . . well, teach. But I just grabbed your sculpture and tore it apar