Grace started to walk away but he reached out and grabbed her hand. "I love you. You do know that, don't you?"
She laughed and threw her arms around him.
"Of course I know it. Honestly, Lenny! What a funny thing to say."
"I'M NOT SITTING NEXT TO HER. Or Lenny. And don't expect me to clap my fins together like a performing seal and bark in gratitude either. I'll leave the groveling up to you, John."
Caroline Merrivale was in a foul mood. Despite the fact that it was she who insisted they accept Lenny's invitation to Nantucket, she now blamed John for everything. The dull excursions, the dreary company, the fact that they'd been relegated to the meanest and shabbiest of the dreadful little guesthouses. She refused to see Grace's "special dinner" as anything other than yet another patronizing slight.
"Just d-d-don't make a scene, Caro, all right? That's all I'm asking."
"All you're asking? And what do you think gives you the right to ask anything? Have you spoken to Lenny? About the raise?"
John looked pained. "Not yet. It's not as s-s-simple as you seem to think it is."
"On the contrary, John. It's very simple. Either you talk to him or I will."
"No! You c-can't! Please, you must leave L-Lenny to me."
"Fine. But you'd better grow some balls and talk to him before the end of this vacation. If I have to listen to his vacuous wifelette gush one more time about how grateful she is for my incredible friendship, I can't be held responsible for my actions."
John Merrivale thought sadly, Grace is grateful for your friendship. Poor, misguided girl.
Lenny was a lucky man. Wives like Grace were one in a million.
"PLEASE DON'T STAND ON CEREMONY, EVERYONE. Dig in!"
Grace felt unaccountably nervous. The dinner itself looked fabulous. Felicia had excelled herself as usual. The lobster bisque smelled exquisite and was the perfect shade of pale pink, the roast lamb looked mouthwateringly succulent on its bed of organic greens and the raspberry Pavlova was as much a sculpture as a dessert, a towering triumph of snow-white meringue and blood-red berries. Caroline couldn't fail to be delighted.
And yet Grace could not enjoy her triumph. Earlier that day she'd seen Connie talking heatedly with Lenny on the beach, then storming off close to tears. When Grace caught up with her sister and asked her what was wrong, Connie had shrugged her away angrily.
"It's Michael," Lenny explained. "He's depressed. They're going through so much stress right now, honey, you mustn't take it personally."
But Grace did take it personally. Not four hours earlier, Honor had bitten her head off, too. All Grace did was ask if she wanted to come to the spa.
"Not everything in this life can be fixed by a fucking massage, Gracie, okay? Christ, is that your answer to everything? To spend more money pampering yourself?"
Grace was deeply hurt. She wasn't a materialistic person. Honor, of all people, should know that. In fairness, Honor had apologized afterward. "It's Jack. He's got so much on his mind lately, I think some of the stress is rubbing off on me." Grace forgave her and they made up. But still, a lingering anxiety remained. Perhaps she was imagining it, but it seemed to Grace that there was an almost palpable tension around the dinner table tonight.
They're all unhappy. Even Lenny. I want to make them happy, but I can't.
"The soup's ambrosial, Grace. Nice job." Mike Gray grinned at his sister-in-law.
"Thanks." She smiled back. He doesn't look depressed to me.
Maria Preston said snidely, "Indeed, your chef is to be congratulated. He must have worked like a slave all day to produce this feast."
Andrew Preston blushed. Not even Grace Brookstein was stupid enough to miss a blatant dig like that. He wished Maria would get a grip on herself, but after a few glasses of wine she was lethal. It was bad enough that she'd insisted on coming to dinner in a lavish Roberto Cavalli evening gown, slashed to the thigh and wildly inappropriate for the occasion.
"Maria, cara. Everyone else will be in jeans or simple sundresses. You look stunning, my angel, as always. But couldn't you..."
"No, Andy. I couldn't. I am not 'everyone else.' 'Aven't you learned this by now?"
Grace was too polite to rise to Maria's bait. Lenny had no such qualms.
"Our chef is a 'she' actually. Felicia." His tone was measured. "And she does work hard, though I'd hardly call her a slave. Last year I paid her considerably more than I paid your husband, Maria."
Andrew's blush deepened. Maria glared at him in silent fury.
Grace wished the ground would open up and swallow her. She hated confrontation. Lenny, on the other hand, had grown tired of walking on eggshells.
"Senator Warner," he said brightly. "You're awfully quiet this evening. What's the problem, Jack? Not in the party spirit?"
If looks could kill, Lenny Brookstein would have dropped dead at the table.
"Not really, Lenny, no. Unemployment rates in my constituency are about to reach ten percent. While we're sitting around your table, enjoying this fine food and wine, the people who voted for me are having their homes repossessed. They're losing their jobs, their health insurance, their hope. And they're relying on me to try to fix things for them. So, no, I'm not really in a party mood. If you'll excuse me."
Honor watched in horror as Jack got up from the table and left the room. He'd finally come clean about his gambling debts last night. As a result, Honor hadn't slept a wink. It was exhaustion that had made her lose her temper with Grace earlier, something she'd been kicking herself about all day. Not because she gave a damn about Grace's feelings. But because the entire purpose of this trip was to try to get closer to Grace so she could use her influence with Lenny to get him to help Jack.