Virginia took an early breakfast in her room and devoured that morning’s State-Times. The wedding of the year had advanced to the front page. However, she learned nothing that hadn’t already been reported several times during the past month, except that security at both the church and the bride’s family’s ranch would be vigilant. The local police chief assured the paper’s reporter that anyone who attempted to gatecrash the ceremony or the lunch would be ejected and end up spending the night in the city jail. Photographs of the bridesmaids and a copy of the lunch menu made a center-page spread—but would Virginia be there to witness the ceremony? After she’d read the article twice and poured herself a third cup of coffee, she became restless, although it was still only 7:20 a.m.
After breakfast she selected a maternity outfit that made her, with a little assistance, look about seven months pregnant. She left the hotel at 9:40 a.m. and took a taxi to Lafayette Street, where she entered a monument to glass and steel and, after checking the directory on the wall, took a lift to the twenty-first floor. She told the receptionist her name was Fenwick and she had an appointment with Mr. Trend. The young woman’s southern drawl made English sound like a foreign language to Virginia, but she was rescued by a voice from behind her.
“Welcome to Baton Rouge, ma’am. I do believe it’s me you’re looking for.”
Virginia turned around to see another man who evidently considered that a check jacket, jeans and a string tie inspired confidence. She would have explained to Mr. Trend that in England, only members of the royal family and police superintendents were addressed as ma’am, but she let it pass. They shook hands. “Come through to my office.”
Virginia followed him past a row of offices that seemed to be getting larger and larger with each stride he took. Finally, Trend opened a door at the end of the corridor and ushered her in.
“Have a seat,” he said as he took his place behind a large mahogany desk. The walls were covered with photographs of Mr. Trend and triumphant clients who couldn’t have looked more guilty. “Now you can imagine,” said Trend as he leaned forward, “how intrigued I was to receive a call from an English lady wanting to seek my advice, and also to find out how she’d ever come across my name in the first place.”
“It’s a long story, Mr. Trend,” which she proceeded to tell. Virginia explained to her prospective counsel how she’d met Cyrus T. Grant III on his brief visit to London. She did not mention the ring, but assured Mr. Trend that her present condition was the result of that liaison.
The lawyer began licking his lips. “Some questions, if I may, Lady Virginia,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “First, and most important, when is the baby due to pop out?”
Once again Virginia was reminded of Cyrus. “In about two months.”
“So I assume this liaison took place at the Ritz in London some seven months ago.”
“Almost to the day.”
“And may I ask you a delicate question?” he said, not waiting for her to reply. “Could anyone else be the father?”
“As I hadn’t slept with anyone for over a year before I met Cyrus, it seems unlikely.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, ma’am, but it’s the first question Mr. Grant’s attorney will ask.”
“And you have your answer.”
“That being the case, it appears we do indeed have a paternity claim against Mr. Grant. But I need to ask you another delicate question. Do you want this matter made public? Because if you do, you’d sure hit the front pages at the moment, considering who’s involved. Or would you prefer me to try to reach a private settlement?”
“I would much prefer a private settlement. The less my friends in London know about this whole affair the better.”
“That’s fine by me. In fact, we might even be able to get the best of both worlds.”
“I’m not sure I understand, Mr. Trend.”
“Well, if you were to attend the wedding—”
“But surely it won’t come as a surprise to you that I haven’t been invited. And I read only this morning that security will be extremely tight.”
“Not if you have an invitation.”
“Does that mean you’re going?”
“No, I was the lawyer who acted on behalf of Ellie May’s first husband, so you won’t see me there.”
“Which is the reason I chose you to represent me, Mr. Trend.”
“I’m flattered. But before I agree to take on your case, there’s another crucial matter we need to discuss. My fees, and how you intend to pay them. I charge one hundred dollars an hour, plus expenses, and I expect a down payment of ten thousand dollars on appointment.” Virginia realized their short meeting was about to be terminated. “There is an alternative,” continued Trend, “although I know it’s frowned upon on your side of the pond. It’s called the contingent fee option.”
“And how does that work?”
“I agree to take on your case and, if you win, I get twenty-five percent of the final settlement.”
“And if I lose?”
“I get nothing. But you don’t end up with a bill.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Good, then that’s settled. Now, my immediate problem is to make sure you get an invitation to the nuptials, and I think I know exactly who to call. Where can I contact you later today?”
“The Commonwealth Hotel, Mr. Trend.”
“Call me Buck.”
23
“MRS. KATHY FRAMPTON.”
“Who’s she?” asked Virginia.
“A distant cousin of Ellie May Campbell,” replied Trend.
“Then someone at the wedding is certain to know her.”
“Unlikely. Her invitation was returned from Seattle unopened, with ‘Not known at this address’ stamped across the envelope.”
“But surely someone who works for the wedding planners will know Mrs. Frampton didn’t reply to her invitation.”
“Yes, and that person just happens to be in charge of the guest list, and also the place settings for lunch at the ranch. And I can promise you, she won’t be telling anyone.”
“How can you be so sure?” asked Virginia, sounding unconvinced.
“Let’s just say she was delighted with the divorce settlement I negotiated for her.”
Virginia smiled. “So how do I get hold of Mrs. Frampton’s invitation?”
“I slipped it under the door of your room an hour ago. Didn’t want to disturb you.”
Virginia dropped the phone, jumped out of bed, ran to the door and picked up a large cream envelope. She ripped it open, to find an invitation from Mr. and Mrs. Larry Campbell to the wedding of their only daughter, Ellie May Campbell, to Cyrus T. Grant III.
Virginia picked the phone back up. “I’ve got it.”
“Be sure to make it a memorable occasion for Cyrus,” said Trend. “I look forward to hearing all about it when we meet up again tomorrow morning.”
* * *
“Ellie May, will you take this man to be your…”
Virginia was seated in the eighth row of the congregation, among the cadet branch of the Campbell family. She had an excellent view of the nuptials, and had to give Ellie May some credit because Cyrus looked almost acceptable in morning dress, and may even have shed a few pounds. And from the look on his face, he clearly adored the about-to-be-pronounced Mrs. Grant. Although, in truth, even a devoted mother would have been hard pressed to describe the bride as anything other than plain, which gave Virginia some satisfaction.
Virginia had taken a seat as close to the aisle as possible, in the hope that Cyrus would spot her as he and his bride left the church. But at the last moment, a family of three rushed in and edged her toward the center of the pew. Despite her staring fixedly at the groom as the new Mr. and Mrs. Cyrus T. Grant proceeded down the aisle together, Cyrus appeared oblivious to anyone other than his bride and marched happily straight past her.
After Virginia had left the church, she checked the instructions neatly
printed on the back of her invitation card. She was on coach B, which, along with seven other buses, countless limousines and even the odd car, stretched as far as the eye could see. She climbed on board and selected a seat near the back.
“Hello,” said an elegant white-haired old lady, offering a gloved hand as Virginia sat down next to her. “I’m Winifred Grant. Cyrus is my nephew.”
“Kathy Frampton,” said Virginia. “I’m a cousin of Ellie May.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” said Winifred as the bus moved off.
“No, I hail from Scotland, and I don’t get over to the States that often.”
“I see you’re expecting.”
“Yes, in a couple of months.”
“Are you hoping for a girl or a boy?”
Virginia hadn’t given a moment’s thought to any questions she might be asked about being pregnant. “Whatever the good Lord decides,” she said.
“How very sensible, my dear.”
“I thought the ceremony went rather well,” said Virginia, wanting to change the subject.
“I agree, but I do wish Cyrus had married Ellie May twenty years ago. It was what both families had always planned.”
“Then why didn’t he?”
“Cyrus was always shy. He didn’t even ask Ellie May to be his date for the school prom, so he lost out to Wayne Halliday. Wayne was the school’s star quarterback and, frankly, he could have had any girl he wanted, and probably did. But she let him sweep her off her feet and, let’s face it, it can’t have been her looks that first attracted him to Ellie May.”
“Where’s Wayne now?”
“I have no idea, but with the settlement he ended up with, he’s probably lounging on a South Sea island drinking piña coladas, surrounded by skimpily clad maidens.”
Virginia didn’t need to ask who Wayne Halliday’s lawyer was. She had followed the case in the State-Times with great interest and been impressed with the size of the settlement Mr. Trend had pulled off on behalf of his client.
The bus swung off the road and drove through a vast set of wrought-iron gates before proceeding down a long drive lined with tall pine trees that led to a massive colonial mansion surrounded by hundreds of acres of manicured lawns.
“What’s Cyrus’s ranch like?” asked Virginia.
“About the same size, I would guess,” said Winifred. “So he didn’t have to bother with a prenup. A marriage made not in heaven, but on the New York Stock Exchange,” she added with a smile.
The bus came to a halt outside a vast Palladian mansion. Virginia climbed off and joined the long line of guests who were having their invitations carefully checked. When she reached the front of the queue, she was handed a small white envelope by a woman who seemed to know exactly who she was.
“You’re on table six,” she whispered. “No one there for you to worry about.”
Virginia nodded and followed the other guests into the house. A row of white-jacketed waiters holding trays of champagne created a path all the way to the ballroom where a lunch for four hundred was waiting to be served. Virginia studied the layout of the room like a Grand National jockey considering which fences might bring him down.
A long table, clearly reserved for the family and their most important guests, ran down one side of the room. In front of it was a dance floor and, beyond that, forty circular tables filled the rest of the room. Virginia was still taking all this in when a gong sounded and a toastmaster dressed in a red tailcoat announced, “Please take your places so we can all welcome the family and their distinguished guests.”
Virginia went in search of table six, which she found on the edge of the dance floor, right in front of the top table. She introduced herself to the two middle-aged men seated on either side of her. It turned out that like her, they were cousins, but of the Grants, not the Campbells. Buck Trend clearly wasn’t taking any chances.
No sooner was everyone seated than they were on their feet again to applaud the bride and groom, who were accompanied by their parents, brothers and sisters, the best man, the bridesmaids and several distinguished guests.
“That’s our governor,” said the man on Virginia’s right, “Hayden Rankin. Mighty fine fellow, much admired by the folks of Louisiana.” But Virginia was more interested in the seating at the top table. Although she had a clear view of Cyrus, she doubted he would spot her on the other side of the dance floor. How was she going to attract his attention without it being too obvious?
“I’m a cousin of Ellie May,” she eventually replied as they sat back down. “And you?”
“My name’s Nathan Grant. I’m a cousin of Cyrus, so I guess we’re now kith and kin.” Virginia couldn’t think of a suitable response. “Is your husband with you?” Nathan asked politely.
Another question Virginia hadn’t anticipated. “No, I’m afraid he’s attending a business conference he couldn’t get out of, so I came with Great-aunt Winifred instead.” She waved, and Winifred returned the compliment.
“So what line of business is he in?” Virginia looked puzzled. “Your husband?”
“He’s an insurance broker.”
“And what’s his specialty?”
“Horses,” Virginia said, looking out of the window.
“How interesting. I’d like to meet him. Perhaps he could give me a better deal than the guy who’s currently robbing me.”
Virginia didn’t respond, but turned to the man sitting on her left. By switching her attention from one to the other at regular intervals, she avoided having to answer too many awkward questions. She received an occasional wave from Great-aunt Winifred, but Cyrus never once glanced in her direction. How was she going to make him aware she was there? And then the question was answered for her.
She was chatting to Nathan about her other child, her first-born, giving him a name—Rufus, aged eight—and even the school he was attending—Summerfields—when an attractive young woman from another table strolled past. Virginia noticed that several pairs of male eyes followed her progress. By the time she’d reached the other side of the dance floor, Virginia had worked out how to be sure that Cyrus couldn’t miss her. However, her timing needed to be perfect, because she didn’t want any rivals on the catwalk at the same time. Especially one who was younger and had longer legs.
After the third course had been cleared away, the toastmaster banged his gavel and silence prevailed once again. “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Larry Campbell, the father of the bride.”
Mr. Campbell rose from his place at the center of the top table. He began by welcoming his guests on behalf of his wife and …
Virginia anticipated Mr. Campbell’s speech would last for about ten minutes. She needed to select the exact moment to make her move, because she knew she would only get one chance. While the father of the bride was welcoming Governor Rankin and the two US senators was clearly not that moment. She waited until Campbell began a long anecdote about some minor incident Ellie May had been involved in when she was at school. The punchline was greeted with far more laughter and applause than it deserved, and Virginia took advantage of the pause in his speech. Rising from her place and clutching her stomach, she walked slowly around the edge of the dance floor. She gave Mr. Campbell an apologetic glance before staring, but only for a moment, directly at Cyrus. He turned chalk white, before she turned her back on him and made her way toward an exit sign on the far side of the room. The look on Cyrus’s face suggested that Banquo’s ghost could not have made a more effective appearance.
Virginia knew her reentry needed to be just as powerful. She waited patiently in the wings for the best man’s speech to finish before the toastmaster finally called on the bridegroom, Cyrus T. Grant III, to reply on behalf of the guests. As Cyrus rose, everyone burst into applause, which was the moment Virginia chose to reenter the arena. She moved swiftly across the dance floor and back to her seat, trying to give the impression that she didn’t want to hold up the bridegroom’s speech. Cyrus was not a naturally gifted spe
aker at the best of times, and these weren’t the best of times. He stumbled through his text, repeating several lines and, when he finally sat down, he received only muted applause, along with a gracious smile from an uninvited guest.
Cyrus turned around and began talking animatedly to a security guard who was stationed behind the top table. The square-shouldered giant of a man nodded and beckoned to two of his colleagues. Virginia suddenly realized she didn’t have an exit strategy. When the band struck up, Nathan Grant rose gallantly from his place and was about to ask Kathy for the first dance, only to find she was already weaving her way nimbly between the tables toward the entrance.
When Virginia reached the far side of the room, she glanced around to see one of the security guards pointing at her. Once she’d left the ballroom, her walk turned into a run. She shot along the corridor, out of the front door and onto the terrace at a speed no pregnant woman could possibly have managed.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” asked an anxious-looking young man stationed at the front door.
“I think the baby’s coming,” said Virginia, clutching her stomach.
“Follow me, ma’am.” He ran down the steps ahead of her and quickly opened the back door of a guest limousine. Virginia climbed inside and collapsed onto the seat, just as two security guards came charging through the front door.
“Our Lady medical center, and step on it!” said the young man to the chauffeur.
As the car accelerated down the drive Virginia turned around and, looking out of the back window, saw the two guards chasing after her. She waved at them as if she were royalty, confident that Cyrus T. Grant III knew she was in town.
* * *
“You must have made quite an impression,” said Trend, even before Virginia had sat down. “Because when I called Cyrus Grant’s attorney this morning, he didn’t seem surprised to hear from me. We’ve agreed to meet at his office at ten tomorrow.”