He sat. Up close, he appeared to be in his early sixties, with a broad nose, fleshy cheeks, and the omnipresent Florida tan. He was wearing a short-sleeved polo shirt. His hands and forearms were strong and muscular. A dedicated golfer, then; Quill had seen those same over-developed muscles in Tiffany Taylor.
"How do you do?" Quill asked politely.
"Not all that well," he admitted. "Sorry about that scene up front."
Bea nodded decisively. "That's what we wanted to talk with you about, Ernst. When is this ridiculous feud going to end?"
"You want my candid opinion?" He rocked back in his chair with a grin. "When one or both of them is dead."
-5-
Quill turned over on her back, swam a few strokes, and floated, looking up at the sky. The Combers Beach Club pool was surrounded by a waist-high stone wall painted white. Palm trees fingered the sky. The air was soft. The sun was behind Quill, settling into the mansions of Palm Beach. She flipped over and watched the fading light through her eyelashes: The colors ranged through all the oranges and yellows, with a bit of mauve where the sky drifted into blue. The light fanned out like the tail of an orange peacock.
"Want to paint it?" Meg sat down and dangled her legs in the water, palms braced against the lip of the pool. The edging tile was Florida-teal and -pink.
"There you are. I can't believe you took a cab back here."
"I told you I wasn't going to ride with you again, and I meant it. I like subways. I like trains. I like airplanes. I hate traffic. And the way you drive in traffic turns my blood to ice."
Quill was feeling too relaxed to rise to this bait. "It's because you're too impatient." She kicked out gently in the water.
"No sisterly advice today, please." Meg dived into the water, surfaced with a gleeful shout, and began to swim laps.
Quill held her breath, went under, and swam through the body-temperature water. The shimmering blue on top was deceptive; underneath, the water was blue-gray and faintly turgid. She exhaled and swam to the top. Meg reached the end of the pool, turned, and stroked back. She stopped in front of Quill and slicked back her hair with both hands. "You have to admit this place is beautiful. You should be doing some sketching."
"Nope. I don't want to paint it. It doesn't feel real.
It's like a set for a movie, or an animated postcard. I can't take it all in."
"Do you want to take a walk on the beach? It's hard to make the beach trivial if that's what your objection is."
"Maybe later. Right now, I want to get some food."
Meg looked faintly surprised. "I'm hungry. I forgot to eat today."
"It was because of the rabbit."
"That poor rabbit. No, it wasn't the rabbit. That good old rabbit and its brothers are going to be the most delicious meal you've ever eaten in your life. That rabbit's going to get us the third star." She treaded water with a smile.
"You mean the banquet's still on?"
"Of course the banquet's still on. Why shouldn't it be?"
"You haven't heard? See, this is what happens when you disappear on me and take a cab. The price of cowardice. Verger Taylor's bought the building. Which means everything's off. I was going to call Myles and tell him we'd be coming home."
Meg turned pink, then pale. She began to sink. Quill grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side of the pool. "Meg? You okay?"
"The third star," said Meg. "This means goodbye to the third star." She pulled herself out of the pool.
Quill hung onto the concrete edge and kicked out gently, watching her. "There'll be other chances for the third star, Meg."
"When? When!" She stood up and danced up and down in her rage. "Oh, dammit, dammit, dammit!"
"Settle down, Meg. It's probably for the best. I mean, these people are lunatics. If this hadn't happened to interfere with the judging, something else would have. Guaranteed."
Meg buried her face in her hands and ground her teeth. Quill waited a few seconds, floating peacefully, and then asked, "Meg? Is being a two-star chef all that bad?"
"Yes." She straightened up. "Does Tiffany know this?"
"Yes. There was a humongous scene in Le Nozze."
"She hasn't called it off yet. I'll bet she's going to pull it off, Quill. She has to. She just has to. We need that third star."
"We don't need that third star. The inn's doing fine."
"I'm going in to check the answering machine. Maybe Tiffany's called with some news."
Quill sighed. Water got up her nose. She pulled herself out of the pool and grabbed her towel. She followed Meg back to the condo with her face buried in it. She was only peripherally aware of an obstacle and stepped aside, straight into a muscular, living surface. Wiping her face, she backed up.
"Sorry about that," said Evan Taylor. "I guess I should have called ahead."
"No problem." Quill, suddenly conscious of her bathing suit, wrapped the towel around her middle. "Did you come to see us?" Meg, who had raced inside the condo to check the machine, came out at the sound of voices. She looked at Quill and shook her head: no word.
"Yes, I came to see you." Evan smiled. He was really, very attractive, Quill decided, with that dark hair falling I over his forehead. "I'd like to say I braved all sorts of obstacles to get to see you, and I did."
"Lions and tigers and bears?" Quill suggested.
"Parental wrath, which can be quite tigerish, now that I think of it. No, the obstacles weren't physical. It wasn't even Florida traffic. Corrigan and I have a place on the third floor, right here. Tiffany probably mentioned that."
"In that case, you can go right back upstairs. Now's not a very good time," Quill said firmly. "Unless it's something quick?"
"Not really." He smiled that attractive grin again. "Tell you what. Why don't you let Corrigan and me I take you both to dinner? Say, in about an hour?"
Quill shook her head. "Thanks, but no. We've already..."
"Don't tell me you've already eaten. I just heard you in the pool. You're both starving. So, what about dinner?
On us. At Taboo. I'll tell you why I'm asking. Dad has an idea that maybe will save the week for Meg. It'll take some time to discuss it. And why not have a talk in a place where we all can relax?"
Quill looked at Meg, who shrugged. Taboo had a reputation for great surroundings and even better food.
"We'll pick you up in the Jag. It's an X-I5." She looked blank. "A four-seater."
"Hey, how could we pass that up?" Meg asked sarcastically. "Okay, boys. We'll listen to what you have to say. But we'll go Dutch, as we say in New York. I'm not eating on your father."
"Eight o'clock, then. The dinner's on me, not Dad. And don't worry about reservations. They know me." He grasped Quill's arm briefly. His hand was warm and strong. He nodded to Meg and loped off across the lawn and up the stairs in the stack of buildings facing the pool.
"Arrogant little brats," Meg said tartly, marching inside. "They know him at Taboo's, huh? I'll bet they know everyone in this place with more money than taste."